Right to Remain Silent
by Shadpup
Summary: While on a case in Massachusetts one of the team is arrested for a heinous crime. Will the others be able to prove their teammate's innocence or will they go down for a crime they did not commit?
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome back everyone. I hope everyone had a nice couple of weeks. I did. _

_A little background first. When I get stuck or want to avoid a working on a scene for my current story, I will go play with another story I have going. I have about ten in different lengths of completion. This particular story was number eight on my list. But I gave two people a sneak preview of what I had done so far and both had said this needed to be my next story. I value both of their opinions so I agreed and here it is. This one is set in my season seven series and it takes place some time after 'Into Thin Air' (you don't have to read it first to follow this story. They pretty much stand on their own). _

_Now as always, I must say I do not own any of the Criminal Minds characters, I just borrow them to fuel my imagination. Also I don't write relationship fics so none of the characters will be getting together. Ever. Those who have been with me from my very first story know I how I work. Now enjoy._

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><p>"Agent Morgan, please step away from Agent Prentiss!" a voice commanded from behind.<p>

Derek and Emily slowly turned around to find six guns pointing at them. They exchanged a worried look. "What the hell?" Derek exclaimed in disbelief.

Detective Morrissey took a step forward. "I repeat. Step away from Agent Prentiss." He tightened his grip on his weapon.

"Morgan, do it," Emily pleaded when she saw the stubborn look on her partner's face. "Do it for me. I'll be fine."

He stared at her and she nodded. Slowly he backed way, never taking his eyes from hers. Two cops grabbed him by the arms and shoved him behind them, instantly training their weapons back on Emily.

When he was sure Derek was out of harms way, Detective Morrissey spoke up. "Agent Prentiss, remove your sidearm with two fingers and set it on the ground."

Emily turned her attention back to the detective, confusion clearly written across her face. Slowly she unsnapped the strap and using her thumb and forefinger, pulled her gun from its holster. She bent at the knees and gently set the Glock on the ground and straightened up.

The detective nodded. "Good. Now back away from the weapon."

Emily took a couple steps back, holding her hands up and away from her body, showing them that she was unarmed. Morrissey gestured at the ground with his gun. "Assume the position," he ordered, knowing she knew what he meant.

Keeping her eyes locked on the detective, Emily intertwined her fingers behind her head and knelt on the ground, crossing her legs at the ankles. The six police officers, guns still trained on her, cautiously approached. Morrissey nodded and three officers holstered their weapons, rushed ahead and roughly wrestled Emily to the pavement.

"Hey!" Derek exclaimed, surging forward with anger burning in his eyes. "There's no need for that. She's not resisting."

Detective Morrissey whirled around and planted a hand against Derek's chest, stopping the agent in his tracks. "Agent Morgan, if you don't stay where you are, I will arrest you for interfering with an official police investigation. Either you can go back to the station under your own power or cuffed in the back of a cruiser like your partner. Your choice."

Derek locked eyes with Emily, who was pinned to the ground by two of the officers while being frisked by the third. She shook her head. "Morgan, don't."

He sighed and reluctantly took a step back, respecting Emily's wish even though he didn't like it one bit. "Fine," he muttered.

"Smart move," Morrissey said. He left Derek standing where he was and went to tower over Emily. He grinned, looking forward to all the praise that would be heaped on him for this collar. Arresting a rogue FBI agent. It couldn't get better than that. He casually rested one hand on his weapon. "Emily Prentiss, you are under arrest for the murder of James Hill," he informed her and proceeded to read Emily her rights.

Her arms were roughly jerked down and behind her back, grimacing when the handcuffs were ratcheted too tightly around her wrists. She knew it was intentional and that they were having too much pleasure in taking down a Fed. Morrissey paused in his recital while she was hauled unceremoniously to her feet. When both officers held her securely, he continued. "Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" He cocked his head to one side, gazing expectantly at her.

Emily returned his gaze unwavering. "I do."

He nodded at the two officers. They tightened their grip on her upper arms and marched her over to the nearest police cruiser. Derek fumed as he watched them 'help' Emily into the back seat. One put his hand on her head to keep her from hitting it on the doorframe as he shoved her inside. Emily righted herself and sat staring through the grating and out the windshield.

Derek got in Morrissey's face. "What do you think you're doing, detective?" he demanded.

"I'm arresting…sorry…I arrested your partner for murder," he said with an arrogant smile. "I just got a murderer off the streets and another one is dead. I'd say it's been a good day."

"You're making a big mistake," Derek said in a low voice, straightening to his full height. "Prentiss would never kill anyone."

"There you are wrong. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a suspect to break." As he walked past Derek, Morrissey, on purpose, bumped into the dark agent. The two men glared daggers at each other before the detective climbed into the front of the cruiser. Derek switched his attention to the back of the car. Emily was still staring out the windshield. Sensing his eyes on her, she turned her head to look at him. She gave him a small smile and mouthed 'I'm okay'. He nodded once and watched in frustration as his partner was driven away.

* * *

><p>"WHAT?" Hotch's angry voice reverberated through the station. Everyone within hearing distance froze, staring at him with a variety of expressions: shock from those who didn't know him and concern from those who did.<p>

His scowl deepened as he listened intently to what Derek was telling him. "Just get back here as quick as you can," he said and hung up. If it had been a landline in his hand, he would have slammed the receiver into its cradle.

"What is it, Hotch?" Dave asked, coming around the table to stand next to him.

Hotch crossed his arms, eyes smoldering with anger. "That idiot Morrissey has arrested Prentiss for murder."

"Murder?" JJ exclaimed, sinking into the nearest chair in shock. "Emily?"

He nodded. "Some guy by the name of James Hill." He turned to Reid. "His name sounds familiar."

Reid's eyes went blank as he mentally ran through all the names that were involved in their case. "James Hill was one of our early possible suspects so we had him in for an interview. If I remember correctly, he had been rude and obnoxious to Emily the entire time."

"That's right," JJ said. "And Emily didn't let him rattle her and throw her off her game plan."

"Reid," Hotch said. "Get Garcia on the line and pull up everything she can find on him."

"On it."

Dave shook his head in amazement. "When did they think Prentiss had the time to go out and kill someone? She worked this case nonstop. We all did."

"I don't know," Hotch said. "But they must think they have enough to get an arrest warrant issued. Reid!" The young man looked up, phone still at his ear. "See if Garcia can poke around the Fall River Police computer system for the so called evidence they have on Prentiss." Reid nodded and spoke into the phone.

"You think she was set up?" Dave asked.

"Yes, it's the only logical explanation. We all know that Prentiss is capable of many things but cold blooded murder is not one of them."

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><p>Emily stared out the side window of the cruiser as they drove back to the police station. She ignored the two men up front as they discussed their disgust for dirty cops, with an heavy emphasis on dirty agents, who thought they were above the law and could do anything they damn well pleased.<p>

"Dirty cops give us good cops a bad name," Morrissey said, sneaking a peek over his shoulder to see if she was listening.

"Yeah. It makes our jobs a lot tougher when people don't trust us because of the likes of you," the younger cop added, eager to get his two cents in.

Emily knew what they were trying to do, having done the same thing with many a suspect over the years. They were baiting her and hoped she would bite. Well, Detective Morrissey was in for a long wait, she knew how to play the game and played it well. She smiled mentally when she heard him huff in frustration when she didn't respond.

With her head still facing the window, Emily turned her eyes inward and wracked her brain, trying to remember where she had heard the name James Hill before. Then it hit her like a ton of bricks. He was that disgusting, slimeball that she had interviewed at the very beginning of the case. Throughout the whole interview, he had tossed thinly veiled innuendos her way. By the time they were done, she had felt so filthy she had wanted to take a hot shower to get rid of his taint.

So someone had decided to off the creep; the world wouldn't miss him. But why were they trying to pin it on her? After they had determined that he was simply an idiot and not their suspect, Emily hadn't given him a second thought, or a third, fourth or fifth. And why was Morrissey after her? She had barely spoken two words to him since they had been called in; he had been too busy butting heads with Hotch over jurisdiction.

The detective's grating voice snapped her out of her ruminations. "Here we are. Don't forget, Agent Prentiss, to smile for the cameras."

Emily frowned at him then looked back out the window. Her stomach dropped when she realized what he had planned. Instead of taking her in the back way, they were pulling up in front of the police station where a huge crowd of reporters milled around. She ground her teeth in anger but didn't let it show on her face. The bastard was going to parade her past the press on a perp walk. Within minutes the news of her arrest would be all over the airwaves. And to make matters worse, they hadn't removed her Kevlar vest so everyone was going to see the big white FBI letters emblazoned across her chest.

The cruiser came to a stop and the detective hopped out as the reporters pressed forward. He stopped next to her door and held up his hands. "Please step back and give us some room!" He had to shout to be heard over the questions being hurtled at him. "There will be a small press conference once I have escorted the prisoner inside."

When the other cop was next to him, Morrissey opened Emily's door and pulled her out, making no effort to shield her from the press. With hands wrapped tightly around her upper arms, they marched her toward the doors of the station. Emily straightened her back, held her head up and tried to walk with as much dignity as she could as they pushed her through the throng of microphones and cameras. She kept her eyes glue straight ahead and her face was an emotionless mask.

Emily maintained the appearance inside the station as she was paraded past the local officers and her teammates. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the shock on JJ and Reid's faces and the rage on Hotch and Dave's. When they turned the corner and were out of sight of the others, she let her shoulders slightly slump in relief. The hard part was over, she wouldn't have to face her friend's pitying looks until her arraignment, having no doubt that she would be brought up on charges of murder.

The two officers in charge of her, Morrissey had handed her over to another cop so that he could preen before the press, guided her to the nearest interrogation room. It was just her luck that it was the same room she had interviewed Hill in. One cop shoved her down on the steel chair that was bolted to the floor while the other unlocked one cuff, threaded it through a small ring and ratcheted it back around her wrist, securing her to the table.

The men nodded to each other before one left the room and the other stationed himself by the door with his arms crossed. He tried to look menacing but the paunch hanging over his gun belt spoiled it. Emily didn't bother to try to make eye contact with him. Instead, she tried to make herself as comfortable as she could on the hard chair with her hands cuffed to the table. She let her eyes drift to the ceiling while she thought of the best way to worm out of Morrissey what he supposedly had on her without her answering a single one of his questions.

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><p>Detective Morrissey stopped on the top step of the police station and surveyed the group of reporters. It was a respectable number so he should get some very good press coverage. How often does a detective have the opportunity to stop a serial killer and bring down a bad agent all in one day? Not very often. It was probably his one chance of a lifetime and he planned to milk it for all its worth. He cleared his throat and held up his arms to capture their attention.<p>

"I have a short announcement to make. The people of Fall River can breathe again. The killer who has been plaguing our fair city for the past month has been taken down by a joint team of our finest police officers and the FBI." _Now make it sound like they helped,_ he thought. "Without the FBI's unique insight, we wouldn't have been able to bring John Guthrie's reign of terror to its proper end today."

Inside the station, JJ rolled her eyes in disgust at his blatant downplay of their contribution. "If it wasn't for our help, you'll still be running around in circles trying to catch your own damn ass," she muttered to the television airing the press conference.

Morrissey continued basking in the limelight. "At the moment that is all I can say. Once we have everything put together, we will hold another press conference. Otherwise, thank you for your time," he said with a nod before turning to go back inside the station.

"Detective Morrissey!" a female voice called out. "What about the FBI agent you just arrested?" He heard pages being flipped. "An Emily Prentiss. What about her?"

He smiled to himself before wiping if off his face and turning back to answer her question. The face he put on before the cameras and mikes was all business. Only Hotch saw the self satisfied smile. "Agent Prentiss is a person of interest in an open case. Unfortunately, I cannot comment any further on an open investigation. Thank you, again," he repeated and left, ignoring the questions being lobbed at his back. He had planted the seed and was content to watch them run with it.

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><p><em>There you go, folks. The first chapter officially in the books. I hope you liked it and that you will let me know your thoughts. As before I shall be following my usual routine: posting once a week on Wednesday. Hope to see all of you back next week. Until then.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow! I must thank everyone for the wonderful reception to this new story. It is so much appreciated and I hope it can keep it up and not bore you to death. Now on with the story. Enjoy._

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><p>Hotch was on the detective the moment he stepped through the doors. "What the hell is going on, Detective Morrissey?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous in sound.<p>

"I arrested your agent for murder, Agent Hotchner," he said with a smug smile. "We have indisputable evidence to back up the charges."

"I insist on seeing your so called evidence."

Detective Morrissey gave him a reproachful look. "I'm afraid I can't. This isn't a BAU case. You haven't been invited in on this one and you won't be."

"It is when it involves a member of my team," Hotch shot back.

"I beg to differ."

The Unit Chief's eyes narrowed. The detective's distain for the FBI kept him from stepping back from the formidable stare. "I can have the State Attorney General on the phone in five minutes," Hotch threatened.

The detective didn't blink at the threat and responded with one of his own. "And I can notify your Section Chief of your interference and have you and the rest of your team recalled to Washington. Like I said, this isn't a BAU case."

The two alpha males glared at each other, at an impasse. Morrissey was the first to blink. "If you'll excuse me, Agent Hotchner. I have a confession to take."

"I demand to speak to Agent Prentiss immediately."

"You can…after she is booked," he said with a grin before turning and heading for the interrogation room.

Rossi came up to stand next to Hotch who continued to shoot daggers at the departing detective's back. "What planet has he been living on that makes him think that Prentiss is just going to confess to him?" Dave scoffed. "She'll lawyer up first."

Hotch continued to stare down the hallway. "She won't, at least, not right away. Prentiss will try to learn what he knows before she asks for a lawyer." He sighed and turned away, pulling out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?" Dave asked.

"I need to inform Strauss about this fiasco and get a Bureau lawyer here ASAP."

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><p>Emily was in the middle of counting the ceiling tiles when Detective Morrissey strutted in. <em>Arrogant little bastard,<em> she thought as he pulled out the only other chair in the room. He turned it around and sat, straddling it. He laid an arm across its back, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and plastered a 'let's be friends' look on his face.

"So, Emily. May I call you Emily?" he entreated.

She let her attention drift over to him and the detective found himself gazing into a pair of eyes that were dark and unreadable. Doubt that she may prove to be more difficult to break than he first had thought began to nibble at his mind.

"Agent Prentiss," she corrected in a voice flat and devoid of any emotion.

"I'm sorry. Agent Prentiss," he said smoothly. "Why don't you tell me what went down between you and James Hill. I'm sure when you are done, we'll both know that it was self defense on your part."

"Nothing went down between us. I didn't kill the man," she said with conviction.

He clucked his tongue at her. "Now, Agent Prentiss, we both know that's not true. Here's what I'm thinking. I think he called you up and said he wanted to speak to just you. You met him at his place and during the course of the conversation Hill began to make unwanted advances at you. When you refused, he attacked and you were forced to shoot, killing him."

He paused, waiting for her response. He was eager to hear the yarn she was going to spin for him and was looking forward to picking it apart thread by thread until he got the confession he wanted. The look on her face when she realizes that he had her was going to be priceless. But Emily wasn't playing along; she just gazed at him with disinterested eyes.

The silence in the small room grew thicker and thicker with each passing second. Morrissey began to fidget while Emily sat completely still; there wasn't even the sound of the handcuffs rubbing against the table. After several minutes had past, the detective couldn't take it anymore. "Well?" he demanded peevishly.

Emily blinked lazily. "Well what?" she asked in a bland voice.

"What's your take on it?" he asked in annoyance.

She let her eyes go wide with surprise. "What's my take on it?" She repeated his question.

"Yes," he almost growled at her.

Emily sat back in the chair as far as she could with her hands cuffed to the table. "Here's my take. I didn't kill him. Period."

Morrissey stared at her and she returned it without blinking. That was not the answer he had expected. Emily watched in amusement, a smile tugging at her lips, as the detective's face slowly turned red as his temper began to boil. Idly she wondered how long it would be before she saw steam coming out his ears. Irritated, he shot to his feet, shoved the chair to one side and slammed his hands down on the table. If he thought he could startle her, he was wrong. Emily didn't move a muscle.

"I'm not going to play mind games with you, Agent Prentiss," he said in a threatening voice. "We have enough evidence to nail your ass to the wall."

Emily arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Really?"

Morrissey's face turned a deeper shade of red. "We have your prints and blood at the scene."

"Planted," she said dismissively.

"We have a witness who is willing to testify that you purchased an illegal weapon."

"Easily bribed and unreliable," she countered.

Morrissey narrowed his eyes. When had he lost control of this interrogation? It felt like it was her interrogating him. "There is video of you leaving the hotel the night of the murder."

Emily shrugged. "Video surveillance can be tampered with."

He was growing more frustrated by the minute. "At this very moment we are executing a search warrant on your hotel room and are checking all the dumpsters within a five block radius of the hotel for your bloody clothes. Once we find them and prove it's Hill's blood, we'll have you dead to right."

"Again. Planted."

He changed tactics and returned to pretending to be her best friend. "Agent Prentiss, lets stop this dance," he said in a conciliatory tone. "Why don't you simply confess that you killed him? I'm sure we can work out a deal with the DA so that you don't have to spend the rest of your life behind bars. What do you say we do this?"

Emily knew she had gotten all she was going to get out of Morrissey. It was time to put a stop to this farce. "I'm growing bored with you. I would like to talk to someone more interesting…my lawyer."

The friendly smile on his face faded. "We don't need to involve a lawyer. This is something we can work out between us."

Emily's eyes hardened. "Didn't you hear me, Detective Morrissey? This little chitchat is over. I want my lawyer."

Morrissey debated getting into a staring match with her but his gut told him he would lose. He broke eye contact, spun on his heels and glared at the officer still standing silently by the door throughout the interview. "Take her to booking," he ordered and stormed out.

"Yes, Sir," the officer said to the empty space that had been previously occupied by his superior.

Keeping a close eye on Emily, he rounded the table and unlocked one of her cuffs. He pulled it back through the ring. Keeping a firm grip on the open cuff, he ordered her to stand and turn. Emily did as she was told. She kept her face expressionless as he roughly yanked her free arm behind her back and ratcheted the cuff back into place. Grabbing her by the arm, he marched her through the door and down the hallway to the holding area where the prisoners waited for their arresting officers to complete the paperwork so that they could be officially booked.

"Hey, Hank. I've got another live one for you to baby sit. She's a genuine Fed," Officer Paunch announced.

Hank looked up from his clipboard. "No shit!" He looked Emily over from head to toe before settling his eyes on her chest and the FBI letters emblazoned across it. She ignored him, looking at a spot over his right shoulder.

"Yup. Not too often do you get to arrest a dirty Fed. Where can I dump her off?"

Hank pointed down the short row of holding cells. "Number three is open."

"Thanks."

Officer Paunch took her down to cell three and shoved her in, not bothering to remove the cuffs. Emily stood in the middle of the cell until she heard the audible clank of the cell door slamming shut. She walked over to the bench along the far wall and sat down. Leaning her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes. To the officer on duty it would look like she was napping, in actuality, she was running through her mind everything Morrissey had intentionally and unintentionally told her. She had nothing else to do before she started the next phase of her forced incarceration.

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><p>Hotch was staring down the hallway where the interview rooms were located when Dave stopped next to him. "They still in there?" he asked.<p>

"Yes."

Dave smiled crookedly. "Prentiss must be giving him a hard time. Imagine that."

"Probably."

Dave glanced sharply at him. When Hotch answered with one word, it usually meant that he was beyond pissed. And the older agent pitied the unlucky soul who pushed him too far. "How did Strauss take the news?"

Hotch frowned so deeply that his eyebrows met. "She was mad as hell but I also detected a hint of satisfaction in her voice."

"Like she was pleased that Prentiss' arrest has finally proved that she was right? That she is a bad agent who is tarnishing the bureau's sterling reputation?"

"That is how I see it. We'll have to keep a close eye on Strauss. Who knows what she has up her sleeve."

"Agreed."

The door flew open and Morrissey stormed out of the interview room, his face was bright red and his hands were clenched at his side. He could have easily walked around the two agents but chose instead to push between them, using them as a way to take out some of his frustration. He stomped over to his desk, threw himself into his chair, pulled up on the computer the necessary paperwork and began pecking furiously with two fingers at the keyboard.

Dave couldn't resist taking a jab at him. "Judging from your red face, detective, I take it that Agent Prentiss didn't cave and spill her guts to you? Bet you came close to confessing to her." He was rewarded with Morrissey hunching his shoulders while his ears turned a deeper shade of red.

Meanwhile, Hotch was still staring down the hallway when he saw the door to the interview room open again. He watched as the overweight cop escorted Emily through the door, her hands still cuffed behind her back. Their eyes met briefly before the cop jerked on her arm and led her down the hallway to the holding area. He didn't like what he saw in her eyes.

"Strauss sending a lawyer?" Dave asked, bringing Hotch back to the present.

He tore his eyes from the hallway Emily had disappeared down and focused on the older agent. "Yes. She said she was sending the best and he should be here in plenty of time for Prentiss' arraignment tomorrow."

Dave arched an eyebrow. "You sure that's going to happen? He could just be holding her for seventy-two hours."

"Absolutely." Hotch's frown deepened. "Morrissey is fixated on Prentiss. He is over confident that he has the right person and he isn't going to bother to look for more viable suspects. He will bend any of the circumstantial evidence in every which way to make it fit in his case against her."

"We need to see that evidence."

"I know but Morrissey isn't going to let us. We'll have to get it from Prentiss' lawyer tomorrow."

Dave sighed. "This stinks of a setup. I'll go check with the rest to see if Garcia uncovered anything while she tiptoeing through their computer system."

Hotch nodded in agreement and turned back to the hallway. He thought back to when Emily had looked at him. In that brief moment of eye contact, he saw a pair of eyes that were devoid of life. He knew then that she had retreated behind her walls of protection to get through this ordeal. What worried him was how thick the walls had become and how deep she had dug in. He hoped she was still close enough to be reached.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Fed!" Hank, the holding officer said loudly. "Wake up." He pulled out his nightstick and banged it against the bars of the cell.<p>

Emily slowly opened her eyes, giving him a disinterested look. He unlocked the cell door and stepped inside. "Get up. You're officially ours. Time to take a little trip down to booking."

She took her time getting to her feet and stood there, letting him come to her. Hank took her by the arm, led her out of the cell and down another corridor. At the end, he turned her over to the woman detention officer who took her over to the counter to check in any personal property. She then unlocked Emily's cuffs and handed her a set of inmate scrubs to change into. Through the rest of the booking procedure, Emily maintained her emotionless mask while being compliant and cooperative. But inside, her stomach churned with the humiliation of being photographed, fingerprinted and body searched like a common criminal.

The officer gestured for her to put her hands behind her back. Emily mentally sighed and did as she was told and listened to the sound of the cuffs being ratcheted back into place. Keeping one hand wrapped around the chain of the handcuffs, she propelled the newest resident of the Fall River jail to the first set of locked gates leading to the detention center. As they waited to be buzzed through, her radio went off. The officer stepped back to speak into her mike.

Emily stood there, staring through the bars, not paying attention to the squawking coming over the radio. She figured it wasn't about her so why should she care? She was just another nameless lowlife they had to deal with. So it was much to her surprise when she was roughly grabbed by the arm and spun around.

"Looks like I'm not going to have the opportunity to lock you up yet." Emily gazed at her in confusion. "Seems someone wants to have a little chat with you."

* * *

><p><em>Hmmm...someone wants to have a little chat with her. Who could it be? Is it the butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker? Or could it be all three because they got a heck of a good deal on a hot tub? Check in next week to get the answer to this totally irrelevant question . Same time, same crime channel. Oh and don't forget to let me know what you thought (about the story and not the three men in a tub). Until then.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_Welcome back everyone. Again the response to the last chapter was wonderful. Much appreciated. Now lets go find out who wanted to talk to Emily._

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><p>Hotch sat with his hands folded on the scarred table of the interview room. It has been hours since he last saw Emily and he knew it was all part of Morrissey's manipulation to irk the hell out of him. The detective was stalling, trying to show his superiority by getting him to ask, to beg to speak to Emily but Hotch didn't fall for it. He calmly waited him out. That idiot didn't know whom he was messing with and Hotch was looking forward to getting Morrissey's ass kicked off the force.<p>

The door across from him opened and a female guard escorted Emily in. She was now dressed in blue and white striped inmate scrubs. Her hands were cuffed in front of her and secured to her waist by a length of chain. They had also put her in leg irons. Hotch's eyebrows rose slightly. The amount of restraints was overkill, just another one of Morrissey's tricks to demean Emily in her boss' eyes. It would have worked on Strauss but not on him. He briefly considered asking the guard to remove the restraints but he had a feeling he would lose that particular battle so he didn't try.

The officer shoved Emily down in the chair. Instead of leaving, she stood on guard, one hand resting on Emily's shoulder to prevent her from hopping back up. He noted that Emily's face was impassive and her eyes unreadable. That was not a good sign of her mental health.

Hotch leveled his steely gaze on the woman guard. "You may go," he said with a curt nod.

She blinked at him. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I have my orders. The prisoner can't be left unsupervised."

Hotch's voice grew deeper and colder. "You. May. Go." He met her gaze unflinchingly, daring her to defy him.

She backed down. "Yes, Sir," she said and quickly left the room.

Emily opened her mouth to speak but he discretely held up a finger, signaling to her to remain quiet. The two sat in silence. Hotch gazed at her, wondering how much effect this debacle was going to do to a mind that was still dealing with the aftermath of Doyle. Emily, avoiding any eye contact at the moment, stared a nonexistent spot over his left shoulder. The only sound to be heard was the occasional rattle of the chain when she shifted position. A minute or two later, the phone next to Hotch's elbow let out three short, sharp beeps.

A small smile came to his lips. "It's safe to talk now."

Her eyes drifted over to him and returned the smile. "Garcia?"

"Yes."

She nodded once then let her eyes wander away, the smile fading.

* * *

><p>In another room, Morrissey pounded the desk in frustration when the sound cut out and the picture grew fuzzy on the monitor. He could no longer hear or see what was going on in the interview room. He had been hoping that Agent Prentiss would reveal something incriminating to her boss that he could use against her in court. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.<p>

The flustered computer tech pounded away at his keyboard. "I have no idea. I can't seem to get it fixed." On the monitor the fuzzy images of Hotch and Emily began to scroll.

* * *

><p>In her lair back at Quantico, Penelope leaned back in her chair with a smug look on her face. "That's what you get for arresting my Raven Warrior."<p>

* * *

><p>Hotch's eyes softened. "Emily, how are you doing?"<p>

Emily gazed up at the ceiling, letting out a snort of derisive laughter. "That is one loaded question that I have ever heard."

He watched as one of her protective walls came crashing down, revealing the anger simmering behind it.

"Let's see. That bastard Morrissey arrested me for a murder I didn't do. I've been photographed, fingerprinted and body searched. And now I'm sitting in front of my boss, cuffed hand and foot, wearing scrubs that say prisoner across the back in big, bold black letters. How the fuck do you think I'm doing, Hotch?" she asked sarcastically.

It was her first flash of true emotions she had shown since the handcuffs had first been slapped on her wrists.

"I would say you are having one hell of a bad day."

She snorted again. "You have no idea." As quickly as the wall had fallen, it was back in place, smothering the anger burning within. Emily's face was once again on emotionless mask.

"You're right, Emily. I don't have any idea what you are going through. I've never been in your position."

"I hope you never are," she said honestly.

Hotch nodded and pulled out a small notebook. "Did Morrissey tell what he supposedly has on you?" he asked, clicking the pen. "He is purposely withholding the evidence from us."

"I can believe that. He is an egotistic excuse for a man." Again there was a flash of anger that she quickly clamped down on. Emily turned her gaze to her hands, taking in the bruising from the cuffs being too tight. "He said he had my fingerprints and blood at the scene."

Hotch straightened. "Did you cut yourself when you were interviewing Hill?"

She shook her head. "No. Not that I remember." She tried to look at her arms but the handcuffs and the chain around her waist prevented her from lifting them to look under them.

"Then how did he get a sample of your blood?"

"I have no idea."

He made several notes. "Did he say anything else?"

"He said he had a witness willing to testify that I bought a gun off of him."

"Did he give you a name?"

She sighed softly. "No."

Hotch nodded. "What else?"

Emily tugged at the cuffs. "Said there was video of me leaving the hotel the night of the murder. That's it."

He looked over his notes. "That's a start," he said and stuck the notebook inside the pocket of his suit coat. "Morrissey isn't going to let us anywhere near the evidence. He has emphasized several times, and rather loudly, that this isn't a BAU case. We'll simply go around him and get the evidence from your lawyer."

Emily nodded, still staring at her hands. Hotch noted that she was refusing to make eye contact and that worried him. Not knowing her as he did, others would interpret it as a sign of guilt. But he knew she was trying not to show any weakness and deep down…Emily was scared.

"I spoke to Strauss and she is sending the best lawyer the Bureau has. He should be here in plenty of time for your arraignment."

"Good."

Hotch folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty and called your mother. I thought that you would want her to hear it from me then hear it on the news."

Emily briefly looked up. "Thanks, Hotch. I really appreciate that," she said with a weak smile. "I assume that the news didn't go over too well with her?"

"Not at all. She was as mad as hell." He smiled. "I do believe that was the first time I ever heard her cuss."

She rolled her eyes. "She's ticked that I managed to embarrass her again."

He shook his head. "Emily, she is not mad at you. She's pissed at Morrissey for having the gall to even arrest you. She knows you didn't do it and she said that she wants to help in any way she can to help us prove that you are innocent. And she is more than willing to pay whatever they set for bail."

"Hotch, you know that they aren't going to grant me bail. It's murder and I'm a flight risk due to her connections."

"I know but I didn't want to upset her any further. The Ambassador also told me to tell you that she will be here as soon as she can."

Emily's head snapped up, locking eyes with him. "No!" she said vehemently.

Hotch looked at her in puzzlement. "I don't understand."

"I don't want her here." She sucked in a breath. "I don't want her seeing me like this." Emily rattled the chains of her restraints and gestured to her inmate scrubs.

"Your mother only wants to lend you her support," he argued.

"I don't care," she said with a stubborn look on her face. "She can do it from where ever she is at the moment."

"Emily—"

"And I don't want the team at my arraignment or trying to visit me. I also don't want them seeing me this way. It was bad enough being taken down in front of Morgan and then paraded past the rest of them like a common thug."

"Prentiss—"

"Hotch, please," she pleaded. "Please do as I ask. The only people I'm willing to see are my lawyer…and you."

"As you wish," he said, reluctantly giving in.

"Again. Thank you," she said, sincerely with a nod.

Just then the door behind Emily swung open and in swaggered Morrissey with a somewhat frustrated look on his face. The two agents smiled at each other, knowing the reason why he looked that way. The guard that had escorted Emily in earlier was right behind him.

To cover his annoyance, he glared at Hotch. "Time's up, Hotchner. You had your little talk with the prisoner. It's time to return her to her cell." He nodded to the guard who went over and pulled Emily to her feet.

Hotch stood up with her. He knew that there hadn't been a time limit. Morrissey was just strutting his stuff, trying to prove he was in charge. He ignored the grandstanding and focused all of his attention to his troubled agent.

"I swear to you, Prentiss, that I will do everything within my power to get you out of here as soon as possible."

"I know," she said as the guard dragged her toward the door.

Emily jerked her arm free and glared at the guard before turning and purposely plowing into the detective, knocking him back into the door. "Oops…I didn't see you standing there," she said with a smirk, her cold eyes boring into him.

"Get her out of here!" he roared, turning red.

"You really should get your blood pressure checked," Emily taunted as the guard latched back on to her arm and hauled her through the door. Once on the other side, she meekly allowed herself to be led away.

"Agent Prentiss is correct. You should get that checked out before you give yourself a coronary," Hotch said with the same smirk Emily had used.

Morrissey straightened his tie and jacket to cover his embarrassment. "You know, Hotchner, you shouldn't make promises you can't possibly keep," he jeered.

Hotch got in his face. "This one I'm keeping," he said, eyes burning with contempt. "Mark my words," he warned and walked out.

* * *

><p>Hotch marched out of the interview room, his face an expressionless mask. As soon as the team saw him, they rose to their feet as one. He stopped at the table and began to gather up the files. They stared at him in confusion.<p>

He paused. "We're finished here," he announced. It's time to pack up."

Derek stood rooted to the floor. "What about Prentiss? We can't just leave her here," he protested.

Hotch leveled his stony gaze on him. "We have to. She's been charged with murder. It's in her lawyer's hands now."

"But—"

"Morgan, it's not open for discussion." Hotch looked around and saw that no one was moving. "Now," he said sharply.

They all exchanged worried looks before grudgingly doing what he ordered. In silence the team packed up their equipment and files. Occasionally one would pause and glance down the hallway that led to the jail then returned to their work. Behind them, Morrissey leaned against a wall with his arms crossed and a triumphant smirk on his face. He reveled in the power he had to force the FBI to slink back to Quantico with their tails between their legs. _Yes, it was definitely a good day,_ he marveled.

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't antagonize Morrissey like that," the woman guard spoke up as she led Emily back to the detention center.<p>

Emily had her eyes on the floor, focused on not letting the leg irons trip her up so she couldn't spare a glance at the guard. "What can he do to me? Slap me in solitary confinement?" she retorted. "I'm already going there."

Technically it was protective custody. Since she was a federal agent, it wasn't safe to let her mingle with the general population of the jail. Law enforcement officers and federal agents were one step above child molesters in the prison hierarchy, making them prime targets for violence. But both terms meant the same thing. She would be spending twenty-three out of twenty-four hours every day locked in her cell with no human contact except with the guards and her lawyer. For the twenty-fourth hour, she would be let out of her cell for exercise and/or a shower.

"He could add assault of a police officer to your list of charges."

Emily gave a dismissive shrug as they walked through the last barred gate into the small Special Housing Unit. The guard pulled her to a stop at the security booth where they verified her identity by matching the computer file on her with the inmate ID band she had around her left wrist. Then she was led down a short corridor lined with six cells on the left and high wire mesh covered windows on the right. As they walked, Emily noted that all the cells were empty. _Lucky me,_ she thought humorlessly. _I've got the whole place to myself. _She knew it wouldn't stay that way indefinitely; at some point she'll have company even if she wasn't allowed to talk to them.

The guard stopped at the last cell. She thumbed open her mike and asked for C6 to be opened. There was a buzz and the door slowly rolled back on well-greased wheels. Emily was made to stand in the doorway. A second guard stood nearby on alert while the woman guard bent down to remove the leg irons. She straightened and put one hand in the small of Emily's back and pushed her the rest of the way into the cell.

"Close C6," the guard said into her mike.

Emily turned and watched the door slide closed with a loud clank, severing the last of her freedom. At first she thought they were going to leave her in handcuffs, but the guard instructed her to approach and put her back to the rectangular opening set in the barred door. She did as ordered and felt the chain around her waist being unlocked.

"Turn around and put your hands through."

Emily thrust her restrained hands through the opening and breathed a mental sigh of relief when she was released from the handcuffs. She wanted to massage her bruised wrists but she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of showing how much they had hurt her.

The woman guard collected the restraints. "Hope you don't hate cramp spaces because you're going to be spending a long time in here, Fed," she smirked and left with a laugh.

Stepping up to the door, Emily wrapped her hands around the bars and watched until the two guards were out of sight before turning around to check out her new accommodations for the next six months or for however long it takes for her case to go to trial. It was a standard 6x9 cell with a barred door and painted a nondescript light gray. It had a stainless steel sink and toilet, a bunk, a shelf, a table and a chair that were all bolted to the walls and the floor. The cramp quarters were functional and uncomfortable as it was intended to be.

Moving over to the bunk, she sat down on the thin mattress, alternating between playing with the inmate ID wristband and rubbing her bruised wrists. Emily stared through the bars of her cell out through the high window at the setting sun. When she had woken up this morning, a jail cell was the last place she had expected to be in at the end of the day. She was supposed to be on the jet with the rest of the team winging back to DC. Better yet, curled up on her couch with a glass of red wine and a good book with Sergio purring in her lap and Mutt snoring at her feet. Instead, she was surrounded by institutional walls and could only curl up with her despair and sense of isolation.

Something tickled her nose and she reached up to rub it. When she brought her hand down, she saw blood coating the side of her finger.

"Damn! Another nosebleed," she swore and went over to toilet and grabbed a wad of toilet paper. She pressed it to her bloody nose, wondering if it had been brought on by stress, the sinus cold she had been fighting during the entire case or if it was just a combination of both.

After a few minutes of direct pressure, the bleeding stopped. Emily threw the bloody wad into the toilet and went to the cell door. She put her arms through the bars and rested her forearms on the crossbar, leaning her forehead against the cold metal. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She reopened them and let them drift back up to the window to watch the last rays of sunlight fade.

She didn't know how long she could endure this. She had survived her months of solitary existence in Paris because she could get outside and feel the sun on her face and breath in the fresh air. Here sterile walls surrounded her, the stale stink of institutional air invaded her lungs and her only connection to the outside world were the high windows that only allowed her to see the sky. But she had to persevere to give the team time to find the bastard who had framed her. To do so, she had to remain in control of her emotions. Emily closed her eyes and started to assemble the necessary walls and boxes she would need to lock away the unwanted and dangerous emotions that could threaten her self-control. If she couldn't, then she was lost.

* * *

><p><em>Will Emily survive this or will this be the case that finally breaks her? Has Morrissey driven the team back to Quantico with their tails between their legs or are they regrouping to fight again? Do check in next week at the same crime time and crime channel to find out. Until then.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Welcome back everyone. Again the response to last week's chapter was wonderful. Much appreciated. Now lets go check and see what the team is up to. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>As soon as they had exited the SUV's in the hotel's parking lot, Hotch indicated that they should follow him. Within minutes they had convened in his hotel room. JJ and Reid sat on the only bed while Derek pulled out the desk chair, turned it around and straddled it. The two older agents remained standing. Hotch stared out the window and Dave leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.<p>

"I didn't want that ass Morrissey to overhear us," Hotch explained, turning around. "Morgan, get Garcia online. She needs to hear this."

Derek nodded and grabbed the laptop. Seconds later her worried face appeared on the screen. She looked anxiously from person to person.

"_Is Emily with you?"_ she asked. _"I don't see her anywhere."_

"I'm afraid not, Baby Girl," Derek said, anger sounding in his voice. "They charged her with murder."

"_That's preposterous,"_ she huffed, echoing the words she had said earlier when Reid had called and broke the news to her. _"Our Emster wouldn't hurt a fly. Well, maybe a spider or two. I'm afraid of spiders so she's always killing them for me,"_ she babbled.

"We all know she didn't do it," he consoled her. "It's the cops, especially Morrissey, who believe she did it."

"_Well, we'll have to make them into nonbelievers,"_ she vowed.

"That's the plan," Derek said.

"How is Emily really doing?" JJ asked.

Hotch sighed. "She's confused, angry as hell and…scared."

Everyone blinked in surprise. Scared wasn't a word they normally associated with Emily Prentiss. She was tough as nails. When it came to dangerous situations, she never once hesitated. Always plunging in with the concern for the safety of others weighing more than the concern for her own. If she ever felt it, she never let it show. But that was the job. This was different, her way of life and freedom was at stake.

"Did she say she was?" Reid ventured to ask.

Hotch shook his head. "She didn't need to. I could see it in her eyes and in her body language. She was distancing herself from me and probably from the situation."

"Was Prentiss able to glean anything from Morrissey while he was trying to interrogate her?" Dave asked from his spot by the bathroom.

The Unit Chief pulled out his notebook and gave them the run down on the so-called evidence.

Derek grimaced. "The blood and fingerprints put her at the scene but the rest is circumstantial."

"Agreed," Hotch said. "Garcia, were you able to find anything of interest while you were rooting through their computer system?"

"_Nothing,"_ she said with a snort of disgust. _"Detective Morris-ass is either old school or he knew we were going to do this. He must be keeping the autopsy report, evidence log and anything else pertinent to the case in a paper file."_

"Figures," Derek growled.

"All I could find were the warrants for Em's arrest and for the searches of her hotel room and its landline. There is also the paperwork for the filing of the charges and processing."

Dave's eyebrows shot up. "Charges? As in plural?"

"_Yes. Let's see._" They watched her pound away at her keyboard. _"Umm…murder one, breaking and entering, possession of an illegal or stolen weapon, resisting arrest and assault of a police officer."_

Derek shot to his feet. "Resisting arrest? That's bullshit, Hotch. I was there and she didn't put up any resistance. It was them who slammed Prentiss to the pavement and roughly frisked her. It was police brutality."

"I'll let her lawyer know," Hotch reassured him.

"Speaking of lawyers, when is the arraignment?" Dave asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Good," JJ said with a nod. "Did you tell Emily that all of us with be there to give her all the moral support she needs?"

Hotch hesitated before answering. This was the moment he had been dreading since he talked to Emily in the interview room. "Prentiss has requested that you don't attend her arraignment or try to visit her in jail."

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. On the monitor Garcia let out a shocked gasp. JJ and Reid stared at him in disbelief while Derek just looked hurt. Dave, on the other hand, simply nodded. He understood where Emily was coming from. She had to focus all of her energy on getting through this. The last thing she needed was the distraction of the team's sympathy.

"But…we're her family," Reid stammered.

"She knows that," Hotch said, hearing the pain in the young genius' voice.

"Then why?" he asked.

Hotch didn't want to tell them that Emily was embarrassed. That she didn't want them seeing her being treated like a common criminal with the inmate scrubs and restraints.

"She has her reasons," he said. "And please honor her request." He looked directly at Reid when he said it.

"No," Derek said firmly. "She doesn't get to do this again."

"It's not the same—" Hotch began to refute his protest, realizing where his line of thought was headed - Doyle.

"Like hell it's not," Derek growled. "She's taking everything onto her own shoulders again, and pretending like she doesn't have an entire group of people here that would go to hell and back for her."

"Morgan, it's her prerogative who she wants to see," Hotch reminded the younger profiler. Derek huffed in frustration, tearing his gaze away from Hotch and focusing on clenching his jaw to restrain his outward anger.

"So we're just going to let Emily go through the arraignment by herself?" JJ asked doubtfully.

"No, I'll be there," Hotch answered. "At this time she is still willing to see me."

Reid's expression fell at Hotch's words, while JJ let out a small breath of relief.

Derek shook his head. "We can't let her pull back from us again."

"She's made her decision, Morgan. She has her reasons, and I'd ask that you respect her wishes," Hotch reiterated, shooting Derek a pointed glance. "All of you," he added, looking at the rest of the team.

There were reluctant nods from everyone in the room. Knowing that Hotch was going to be present at Emily's arraignment both frustrated them and lessened their fear that she would be facing this all alone. But that same fear wouldn't be gone until she was back amongst them.

Dave spoke up. "Let's work on getting Prentiss out of jail. Since we don't have access to the evidence yet, I believe we need to focus on the murder victim."

Hotch nodded in agreement. "We'll start with victimology and work our way up."

* * *

><p>Within a half-hour the team had come to the same conclusion that Emily had while locked in the back of the police cruiser. The murder victim, James Hill, had been a slime ball. He had turned out to be a run of the mill stalker. He would approach a woman, get shot down and spend all of his free time stalking her. He only stopped when he had the crap beat out of him by a protective husband or boyfriend or when a restraining order had been slapped on him. Then he would target another woman and the vicious cycle would start again.<p>

The only reason they had initially looked at him was because Morrissey had ignored part of the profile and had his men haul in every known stalker. His impatience forced the team to interview each and every one of them to officially rule them out as a possible suspect. By the time they were done, they had wasted an entire day and the UnSub had killed another woman.

Emily had the bad luck of drawing the short straw and ended up with James Hill. Throughout the interview he had hit on her, tossing thinly veiled innuendos at her. But to anyone watching it, would have seen that she hadn't let it bother her.

"Emily was professional during it," JJ said. "Spence and I watched part of it."

"Did she say anything about him when she was finished?" Hotch asked.

"She just did a little shudder and joked about needing a shower," she said with a light laugh.

Derek sighed in frustration and tossed the papers on the bed. "Morrissey is going to use the interview as motive. He probably is saying Prentiss went over there and blew him away because of his comments."

"People have been convicted on a lot less," Reid commented in an off hand manner. Everyone in the room frowned at him. He looked up and nervously swallowed. "Not that it's going to happen to Emily. We'll have proved her innocence long before her case ever comes up to trial."

"Nice save," Dave said with a smirk. "There is the possibility that Hill was stalking her. It is his M.O. after all. Prentiss turned him down and that only made her more appealing. She may not have realized that he was following her."

Derek shook his head at that. "No. She would have noticed. The hyper vigilance she acquired after Doyle has become a permanent part of her."

"Would she have mentioned it?" Dave countered, already knowing what the answer would be.

"No. Damn her stubbornness," he muttered.

Everyone sensed he was referring more to Emily's refusal to see anyone than her not mentioning a possible stalker.

"It's something we need to check out," Hotch decided and turned to the laptop. "Garcia, see if you can track his whereabouts from the moment he left the police station."

"_I'm on it like a blood thirsty tick is on to a dog,"_ the blonde analyst announced and blinked off the screen.

The room fell silent when they realized there was nothing else they could do until they got their hands on Emily's case file. They hadn't felt this helpless since the day she had taken off to confront Doyle on her own terms.

"So what do we do now?" JJ asked, being the first to voice the question that was on the tip of everyone's tongues.

Hotch sighed. "We wait to see how the arraignment goes."

* * *

><p>Emily laid on the bunk, staring at the ceiling of her cell, having nothing better to do. She had had a rough night. Between the tossing and turning, the worrying about her predicament and the guard walking past her cell every hour, she had gotten very little sleep. She had given up on it hours ago and spent the remaining time gazing through the bars at the window, waiting for dawn to light up her little patch of sky.<p>

Her restless mind drifted to thoughts of the team. Right now they were sleeping in soft beds in their comfortable hotel rooms. Hotch, and maybe JJ, was already up and taking luxurious hot showers. Afterwards they all would meet in the hotel's dining room and have a leisurely breakfast of their choice. A stab of jealousy hit her directly in the heart. It wasn't fair that they were out there enjoying their freedom while she was locked in this 6x9 hellhole with a thin mattress, no shower and would have to eat whatever they gave her.

The moment the thought had come to her, Emily was ashamed of herself. The team wasn't as selfish as her mind was making them out to be. She hardly doubted that any of them had gotten a decent night's sleep, worrying about her had kept them up. Knowing that the team cared brought her a small slice of comfort. She took that pang of jealousy and shoved it back in the box it had escaped from, doubling the lock and nailing down the lid.

"Hey, Fed! Get over here and get your breakfast before I dump it on the floor," the guard ordered, pushing the tray through the slot in the door.

Emily got up; mentally wincing at the derogatory nickname they had stuck on her and went to retrieve the tray. She carried it over to the metal table and sat down on the metal stool. She mechanically ate the tasteless and unrecognizable meal, forcing herself to down every bite. When she was done, she went back to her bunk and resumed her contemplation of the blank ceiling.

An hour later, two guards arrived at her cell to help her get ready for arraignment hearing. Someone had wanted her to look extra spiffy for her court date so they had ordered an upgrade in equipment. The chain that went around her waist had been replaced by a stiff leather belt, which she thought was cinched too tight. The handcuffs and leg irons were still the same but now there was a length of chain connecting them, restricting the use of her hands and feet even more. Complaining about the too tight cuffs and belt wouldn't do her any good. The guards would ignore her request and because they could, tighten them more. That was the problem in law enforcement; many treated their own kind worse than the other prisoners because they were seen as betraying the badge and the principles they stood for.

Once Emily was properly restrained, she was taken down and loaded, along with her fellow inmates, onto the jail transport bus for their trip to the courthouse. After pulling in behind the building, they were unloaded and placed in holding pens outside their assigned courtrooms to wait their time before a judge. Emily shuffled into the pen and took a seat in the corner, purposely avoiding contact with its occupants. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. The only signs of agitation in her were in the form of the slight shaking of her right leg and the subtle tugging at the cuffs.

A bailiff stepped up to the holding pen door. "Prentiss, you're up."

Emily sighed and stood up. _At least someone knows my name,_ she thought as she shuffled over. He led her over to the side door leading to the courtroom. As he doubled checked the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, she took the time to compose herself. When she stepped through the door, she was in total control of her emotions.

As she was guided over to her lawyer's side, Emily let her eyes glide over the spectators. The courtroom was almost full and she hoped they weren't all there for her. She was relieved to see that her teammates weren't mingled among them. Only Hotch was present. He stood directly behind the lawyer and gave her encouraging nod as she approached.

"Drake Stanton," the lawyer introduced himself when she stopped at his side. He wisely didn't offer to shake hands with her.

While the judge looked over his docket, Emily took the time to discretely examine her lawyer. Everything about him screamed successful lawyer. From his tailored suit and Italian loafers to his gold Rolex watch and expensive haircut. Emily wasn't sure if she should be reassured or worried. All she could do was hope that he was as good as he looked.

"The state of Massachusetts versus Emily Prentiss," the judge announced, looking up from the file to look at the defendant's table.

He then read off the charges. Emily wasn't surprised by the charges of murder one and assault on a police officer. But she did blink in surprise at the ones for breaking and entering and resisting arrest. The last one was a total joke; she hadn't put up a struggle when they had slammed her into the pavement.

"How does the defendant plead?" the judge asked in a deep baritone.

Emily straightened her spine, held her head up high and locked eyes with him. "Not guilty, your Honor," she said in a clear and confident voice.

"So noted."

Stanton took off his reading glasses and placed them on the table before clasping his hands behind his back. "Your Honor, if I may, I would like to address the issue of bail." He gestured politely to Emily. "Agent Prentiss has been with the FBI for seventeen years serving with fidelity, bravery and integrity."

She mentally winced as he quoted, accidentally or on purpose, the words she heard had been inscribed on her headstone.

"I would like to request that she be released into the custody of her Unit Chief, SSA Aaron Hotchner. He has guaranteed that she will be present for all court appearances."

The Assistant DA was fairly bursting to get her two cents in. "Your Honor, we agree that the defendant is a valued member of the FBI but she used her position to murder an innocent man," the blonde woman argued.

_Here it comes, _Emily thought and schooled her face to not to react.

"But more importantly, she is a flight risk. Her mother is Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss and with her contacts, she would have her daughter safely out of our reach in a country we don't have an extradition agreement with."

The judge carefully considered both arguments before rendering his decision. " Bail is denied. The defendant is remanded into the custody of the Fall River police."

Hotch closed his eyes and shook his head slightly in disappointment. Bail had been a long shot to begin with but he had hoped that she would finally get a well-deserved break. Emily didn't even bat an eye at the ruling. Instead she zoned out for the rest of the proceedings as the judge and the two lawyers negotiated the trial date. They finally settled on six months from now.

Stanton leaned in as the bailiff took her by the arm. "I'll see you back at the jail and we'll go over your defense."

Emily nodded wordlessly and avoided looking at Hotch who was attempting to capture her eyes. She let the bailiff lead her back to the holding pen where she remained for the next couple of hours while the rest of her fellow inmates got their time before the judge. Eventually she was loaded onto the bus and taken back to the jail and her lonely cell.

* * *

><p><em>Man! Emily just can't catch a break. Looks like she's going to be stuck in jail for a long time. Do come back next week. Maybe we'll see Emily pulled off one of the the most awesome jail breaks the city of Fall River has ever seen. Until then.<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_Hi everyone. Welcome back. I'm glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter. I hope this one is just as entertaining. And I learned not to make jokes about my story in my author notes. I unfortunately made some readers think that what I joked about was actually going to happen..lol. My bad. Now go read and enjoy._

* * *

><p>With a heavy heart, Hotch watched the bailiff lead Emily out of the courtroom. He had tried to make eye contact with her as she turned but she kept looking resolutely ahead. If she was disappointed in the judge's decision, she wasn't letting it show. Probably because she had know what the ruling was going to be long before she had set one manacled foot inside the courtroom.<p>

Hotch sighed and exited the courtroom. He made his way outside and looked for a semi-private location to make a phone call before rejoining the team at the diner around the corner. With a minor grunt of annoyance, he pulled out his phone and placed the call.

His jaw automatically clenched when she answered on the second ring. _"Erin Strauss."_

"Agent Hotchner, Ma'am."

There was a deep breath on the other end of the line. _"How did it go?"_

He squinted up at the blue sky. "It didn't go the way I had hoped it would. Prentiss was remanded into the custody of the local police."

"_I see."_ Hotch heard her chair squeak, indicating that she had leaned back in it. _"When is the trial set to begin?"  
><em>

"Six months from now," he told her.

"_You've done all that you could do. It's time for you and the team to return to Washington," _she declared.

He frowned at the phone. "I beg to differ, Ma'am. We haven't even started yet. We're still waiting for Stanton to show us the so called evidence the detective has against her."

"_So called evidence?"_ Strauss echoed.

"Yes. It is obvious that someone has framed Prentiss."

"_Well that is what her lawyer will have to prove. Not you or your team, Agent Hotchner."_ There was annoyance in her voice.

"It is. She's a valued member of this team so that makes it my business," he shot back, feeling the loathing he had for his Section Chief rising to the surface.

"That doesn't make any difference. You can't work her case for two reasons. One, it's a conflict of interest. All of you are too personally involved. Second, this isn't a BAU case. You weren't invited in."

"Still—" he protested.

Strauss' voice grew icy. _"It's not open for discussion, Agent Hotchner. I expect to see all of your team hard at work at their desks tomorrow morning. Is that understood?"_

"Crystal clear, Ma'am," Hotch ground out.

"_See you tomorrow. All of you,"_ she ordered and hung up, indicating the matter was closed.

Hotch shot daggers at the dead phone in his hand. Strauss was living up to her derogatory nickname of the bitchy ice queen. She was definitely reveling in Emily's misfortune and that worried him. With a snort of disgust, he shoved the phone into the pocket of his suit jacket and stalked off to the diner to break the bad news to the team. His stomach twisted at the thought, knowing it was going to go down like a lead balloon.

* * *

><p>In the back of the courtroom sat a nondescript man wearing a nondescript gray, wrinkled suit. He followed all the proceedings with the same level of interest, not completely bored with it, but with a bit of curiosity. After one particular arraignment ended, he watched an intense looking dark haired man in an expensive suit exit the courtroom. He quietly got up and slipped out behind the man. He shadowed Hotch from a discrete distance, making it appear that they were simply headed in the same direction. When Hotch stopped to make his uncomfortable phone call, the man in gray settled on a nearby bench, unfolded the newspaper he had been carrying and pretended to read. From this strategic position, he had no difficulty on ease dropping on the one sided conversation.<p>

A slow smile crept over his face as he listened to the tension ratcheting up in the agent's voice. _Sounds like he is getting some bad news_, he thought with glee. Though he couldn't hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying, he had a good idea what it was. He watched unobtrusively as Hotch glared at the phone and then stalked away_. He's probably off to break the bad news to the team_. He let a few minutes pass before pulling out his own disposable phone and hit the speed dial for the only number programmed into its memory.

"_Yes?"_ a deep voice asked.

"Everything is going according to plan," he told his employer. "Bail was denied so she remains in the custody of the local police."

"_Good. When is the trial?"_

"Six months or so, depending on how many delays her lawyer files but she still be in jail."

"_Will she be in with the general population?"_

Suit shook his head. "My sources say she is being held in protective custody. Since she is a Fed, there's bound to be a few inmates who would love to take a stab a killing her," he chuckled softly at his own joke.

_"That can't be allowed to happen yet. I want her to spend several years rotting away in prison before I have somebody shank her."_

"Alright," he agreed. He didn't care about how an assignment ended, he only cared about the money.

"_And her team?"_ the mysterious voice asked.

"It appears that they are going to be ordered back to Washington so she'll be on her own. Protective custody is basically solitary confinement and it leaves her cut off from the rest of the world. Her only human contact will be the guards and they won't give her the time of day."

_"Excellent."_

"Do you want me to delay the proceeding so that she spends more time in the jail?"

"_NO!"_ came the angry response_. "I want her tried, convicted and imprisoned as quickly as possible. I want that bitch to feel what it is like to lose everything important to her,"_ the voice said venomously.

* * *

><p>In the diner the team either stared morosely at their congealing food or into their rapidly cooling cups of coffee. As much as it gnawed at them, they had respected Emily's wishes and hadn't attended the arraignment. But her wishes didn't stop them from waiting across the street from the courthouse. Though they all knew that the odds were stacked against Emily on the issue of bail, they held on to the slim hope that it would be granted. The look on Hotch's face when he had entered the diner told them all they needed to know.<p>

"Bail was denied?" Dave asked with a sigh.

"Yes. Prentiss was considered a flight risk because of her mother's position."

"That's a load of crap!" Derek growled and slammed his open palm down on the table, rattling the dishes and silverware.

"It is," Hotch agreed. "But the ruling has been made."

Dave took a sip of his coffee and grimaced at the cold taste. "When does her case go to trial?"

"Six months from now."

JJ and Reid's eyes widened in disbelief while Derek glared glumly at his hands, muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

"We…we have to leave her in jail for six months?" Reid stammered.

"I'm afraid so."

JJ felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and she had to look away. "Emily won't survive all those months of isolation. The three months in exile in Paris almost broke her."

"Then lets get her the hell out of there," Derek declared.

While JJ, Reid and Derek were voicing their opinions, Dave studied the Unit Chief with a critical eye. He noted the tense shoulders, the deep frown and the pissed off look in his eyes.

"What aren't you telling us?" he asked at last.

Hotch took a deep breath. "I spoke to Strauss. We've been ordered to return to Washington immediately."

Everyone started talking at once.

"The hell we are!" Derek exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

"We can't abandon Emily in her greatest time of need," Reid squeaked in dismay.

"How can she be so cruel and cold?" JJ demanded.

Dave remained silent, letting the other blow off some steam. Eventually he spoke up. "Did she give you the reasoning behind her decision?"

Hotch turned to the senior profiler and crossed his arms. "Strauss cited that it is a conflict of interest, that we all are too personally involved. And since we weren't invited in, it's not a BAU case."

Dave nodded thoughtfully. "All are valid points.

Derek whirled around. "Whose side are you on, Rossi?" he accused the older man, his teeth clenched in anger.

"Emily's side, of course," he said, making a placating motion with his hands. "I was merely stating that they were valid reasons."

"Well, screw Strauss and screw her reasons," he shot back. "I'm staying put. There's no way in hell I'm going to let Prentiss go through this alone. I'm not going to turn my back on my best friend."

"Neither will I," JJ and Reid echoed together.

"By defying her orders there is a strong chance you can lose your jobs," Hotch pointed out, privately proud that the team was standing strong on this issue.

"I'm fine with that," Derek said. JJ and Reid nodded in agreement.

"Would Emily be fine with your decision?" Dave asked softly. "Would she be happy that she is the reason you all were fired?"

"That's a low blow, Rossi," Derek growled.

"It's the truth, Morgan," Hotch said.

"Would she?" Dave asked again.

Derek ground his teeth in anger. "No," he muttered.

"Then it is decided," Hotch said with a nod. "You will fly back to Washington tonight."

JJ frowned at his choice of words. "That sounds like you're not coming back with us."

"I'm not," Hotch declared.

"Why do you get to stay and we don't?" Reid asked in a small voice.

"Because I'm her boss and that means that Prentiss my responsibility."

"Oh," he said and looked guiltily down at his hands.

Hotch looked at each and everyone. "But this doesn't mean that we won't be working this case. We'll be doing it on the side. When I get a copy of the case, I will send it to all of you. We'll have to do this behind Strauss' back so we won't be able to use any of the Bureau's assets."

Reid brightened at that. "That shouldn't be a problem. We've got Garcia."

"Exactly."

"We could set ourselves up somewhere else so that Strauss won't stumbled onto what we are doing," JJ suggested.

Hotch nodded. "And when you are at the BAU, it would be business as normal. Agreed?"

"Agreed," they all said.

He turned to Dave. "Let's talk to Garcia and get her started. I want to make sure she knows not to take any cases if possible."

"Good idea," Dave said and together they stepped back outside to place the call.

The three remaining agents looked glumly at each other. It wasn't exactly the way they wanted to work the case. They wanted to stay here but it wasn't meant to be. Emily had enough on her plate and they didn't want to add the worry of them possibly getting fired on it. Each soon became lost in their thoughts.

Reid sighed and stared out the window. The diner they had chosen was around the corner from the courthouse. All that he could see was the back of the building. As he gazed through the glass, a group of prisoners were escorted outside. He let his eyes drift lazily over them. He didn't pay much attention to them until he got to the end of the line. In surprise, he straightened and pointed.

"There's Emily," he cried.

Derek and JJ turned to look. "Where?" she asked.

"Third from the end."

The two agents leaned forward to get a better look. JJ let out an audible gasp when she saw how her best friend was being treated. Her blue eyes filled with pity as she took in the blue and white striped inmate scrubs and the chains around her wrists, waist and ankles. She shuffled along with her head down and her shoulders were slumped in despondency. She looked broken. Unable to take it anymore, she looked away while the two men continued to watch.

Emily's head shot up when she sensed someone was watching her. She paused and looked around and quickly zoomed in on the diner. Unfortunately the glare of the sun prevented her from seeing inside. A guard came up behind her, said something to Emily and then shoved her in the back. Derek's anger rocketed as he watched his partner almost stumble to her knees, but she managed to catch herself. Emily then turned and said something back to the guard and judging from the color that rose in the guard's face, it hadn't been nice. Both men wanted to applaud. With her mouth set in a grim line, she roughly grabbed Emily by the arm and propelled her over to the jail transport bus. With sad hearts they watched their friend driven away.

"Did you see how they were treating her?" JJ whispered. "They think of her as just another criminal not a dedicated agent."

Derek laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I did and it's not right."

* * *

><p>Two hours after being returned to her jail cell, Emily found herself sitting in one of the visitation rooms impatiently waiting for her lawyer to show up. Her right leg was jiggling in agitation as she stared out the barred window, pointedly ignoring the guard stationed at the door directly behind her. The click of a knob turning drew her attention to the door opposite of her.<p>

"Sorry for the delay, Agent Prentiss," Drake Stanton apologized as he stepped into the room. He nodded to the guard who slipped quietly out the other door.

"No problem," she said. Emily didn't get up to shake hands since her were cuffed in front of her and were attached to her waist. It was obvious to her that the police still considered her to be a danger to others.

Stanton pulled out the chair and sat, placing his briefcase on the floor. He adjusted his glasses before folding his hands on the table. Emily frowned slightly when he didn't remove her case file from the briefcase.

"The reason I was late is that the Assistant DA wanted to discuss a deal."

Emily's eyebrows rose. "A deal," she said skeptically.

He nodded. "Yes. Plead guilty to second-degree murder and all the other charges will be dropped. Thirty years with a chance of parole after fifteen."

"No," she said immediately.

He let out a soft sigh. "Agent Prentiss, I highly recommend that you take the deal."

Emily sat back in her chair, staring at him in stunned disbelief. "Ex…excuse me?" she stammered, unsure if she had heard him correctly.

"I said you should take the deal," Stanton repeated. "I've seen the evidence against you and it is pretty strong. If you let this case go to trial, there is a good chance you'll get life without parole."

Emily's frustration flared. "You want me to plead guilty without taking a look at the so called evidence they have on me? That's ridiculous. You're my lawyer and you're supposed to be defending me. Not telling me to throw in the towel without a fight."

"We believe it's in your best interest to plead this out. Thirty years is better than life."

Her eyes narrowed at the word 'we'. "Who is this we?" she demanded.

"It was a slip of the tongue," he said smoothly. "I meant to say 'I'."

"No you didn't," Emily retorted, her frustration giving way to anger. "I'll ask you again: who is this we? Is it you and your fellow lawyers? The FBI?" A thought occurred to her. "Or was it Strauss?"

Stanton refused to answer. "Agent Prentiss—"

Her eyes grew cold that when he made eye contact with her, it prompted him to subconsciously pushed his chair back from the table. "I want to talk to Agent Hotchner," she said in a low, flat voice.

"Agent—"

"Now, Mr. Stanton."

He looked at her then quickly dropped his eyes. "As you wish," he said and retrieved his briefcase.

Emily waited until his hand was on the doorknob before speaking. "After you have informed Agent Hotchner of my request, you can keeping on walking because you're fired."

* * *

><p>Hotch was waiting in the lobby of the police station for Emily's lawyer to return. He had figured it would take them a good hour to go over her defense. So he was surprised when Stanton emerged with an annoyed look on his face after less than fifteen minutes. He stood up and made his way over to him.<p>

"Agent Prentiss wants to speak to you," the lawyer informed him before he had a chance to ask what had gone wrong.

"About what?" he asked.

"You'll have to ask her that yourself, Agent Hotchner." Stanton handed Hotch one of his business cards. "While you are in there, I would suggest you talk some sense into your agent. Give me a call when you have."

The lawyer gave a curt nod and headed for his car, leaving a confused Hotch staring at the card in his hand.

* * *

><p>When Hotch entered, he found Emily furiously pacing the small room from one end to the other and back. Her hands were in tight fists and she was tugging at the cuffs that restrained them.<p>

"What's wrong?" he immediately asked, concern wrinkling his brow.

She stopped and turned anger filled eyes on him. "I fired that ass of a lawyer."

He blinked in surprise and sat in the chair that had been previously occupied by Stanton. "Why?"

Emily didn't answer. Instead she resumed her pacing. Hotch let out a soft sigh. Over the years he had been a witness on occasion to this side of Emily's temper and had learned how to deal with it. If he wanted a straight answer out of her, he had to get her to calm down.

"Prentiss!" he said sharply. "Sit down and tell me what is going on that has you this upset."

The tone of his voice stopped Emily dead in her tracks. She bit her lip and shook her heard slightly before turning around and slowly returned to the chair. She flopped down in it and stared at the ceiling, trying to compose herself. She took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop pulling on the cuffs. When she did look at him, Hotch could see that the anger was still there but now at a low simmer and not the burning rage from earlier.

"That asshole," she glared at the closed door, "wanted me to take a deal the Assistant DA was offering."

Hotch leaned forward, annoyed that Stanton hadn't apprised him of the deal when they had met prior before going in to talk to Emily. He thought he had made it clear that he had wanted to be kept up to date on Emily's case, barring any privilege information.

"What was the deal?" he asked, struggling to keep his own anger out of his voice. He had to be the level headed one while Emily had the right to be pissed off.

"If I plead guilty to second degree murder, the rest of the charges would be dropped."

"And the length?"

"Thirty years with a chance of parole after fifteen."

Hotch frowned. "I wonder why they offered you a deal? Maybe the case against you isn't as strong as they thought it was," he mused.

Emily shrugged. "I don't know, Hotch. Stanton seemed to think they did. He kept pushing that I take it, saying thirty years is better than life. He was pretty sure that I would lose."

"Did he go over the evidence with you?" Hotch asked, growing more irritated with Stanton with each passing minute.

"No." Emily's temper flared. "He just wanted me to take that fucking deal. Once he even said that 'we' believe it's in my best interest to plead guilty."

That got his attention. "Did he say who this 'we' is?"

Emily shook her head and resumed tugging at the handcuffs. "He said it was a slip of the tongue. My best guess is that 'we' refers to the higher ups or Strauss. Either would want this wrapped up as quickly as possible to avoid tarnishing the image of the Bureau any further," she said bitterly.

Hotch nodded, really not surprised by the news. He had his suspicions that Strauss had been up to something and now he knew what it was. But he kept them to himself. Emily needed his support.

"I won't let that happen. We'll get you out of here before your case ever comes to trial. Meanwhile, I will contact the Ambassador and arrange for a private lawyer."

Emily nodded wordlessly. The anger that had fueled her faded and she sagged in the chair, physically spent. With shoulders slumped, she stared down at her cuffed hands and willed them to stop.

"Hotch, are you still an active member of the bar?" she asked, never looking up.

He frowned slightly. "I am."

"And you were a Prosecutor?"

"Yes."

This time she looked up. "I want you represent me. I need someone I can trust. Someone I know who will have my back."

He was going to refuse, citing that it would be a conflict of interest. Then he saw the desperation in her eyes. He locked his on hers, willing her the strength she needed to get through the day.

"Of course," he said. "I'll do whatever you need."

She gave him a weak smile. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded and began to mentally tick off the things he would have to do and it turned out to be a long list. He would have to notify the courts about the change in lawyers. Then he would have to get the case file from Stanton so that he could review it before meeting with Emily again. And lastly, he had to contact Strauss and request a leave of absence so that there wouldn't be a conflict of interest. He knew that it would go over like a lead balloon with her but he didn't care. His main priority now was to get Emily out of jail by finding the bastard who had framed her.

"There are a few things I need to take care of first before we can officially go over your case," he explained.

Emily nodded. "Take you time, Hotch. I'm not going anywhere. I've got all the time in the world," she said, taking a halfhearted stab at making a joke.

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. She flashed him a smile that was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Hotch made to stand up. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go?" he asked.

Emily sighed and turned her gaze to the barred window. "Umm…I'm going to need some basic necessities. Like a toothbrush, toothpaste and stuff."

"Right. I'll make arrangements with the commissary to get you what you need." He walked around the table and touched her on the shoulder, noting the tension in them. "Just hold on, Emily."

"I'll try," she said softly, refusing to look at him. "But I don't know for how long."

* * *

><p><em>Ah! A couple little twists and surprises in there. Do come back next week to see how they may play out. Until then.<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello, everyone. Thanks for stopping in for another chapter. Again the response to last week's was awesome! Now on with the show._

* * *

><p>Hotch found Dave and JJ waiting in hotel's dining room. He paused at the table and glanced around. "Where are Morgan and Reid?" he asked with a frown.<p>

"I haven't seen Spence for a couple of hours," she confessed. "He had said he was going to his room."

"And Morgan said he couldn't sit around anymore and stepped outside for some fresh air," Dave supplied.

Hotch nodded at that and pulled out one of the remaining chairs. He had a good idea where the two of them had disappeared. Odds were that both were going to try to get Emily to see them in their own ways and he silently wished them the best of luck. He still thought she was wrong in excluding the team but he had respected her wishes. Especially now that he was her lawyer. Whereas Emily could be extremely stubborn, Derek and Reid were just as impulsive.

"How did Prentiss meeting with her lawyer go?" Dave asked in curiosity.

Dave's question snapped the Unit Chief out of his musing. "Not good at all. She fired him."

The senior profiler's eyebrows shot up. "She fired Drake Stanton? He's the best lawyer the Bureau has."

"She did," Hotch confirmed.

JJ's blue eyes filled with worry. "Why would she do a dumb thing like that?"

Hotch quickly filled them in on what had gone down between Emily and her now ex-lawyer. He made sure not to forget to include when Stanton had used the word 'we'. When he was finished, the two agents sat back in their chairs in various stages of disbelief. Dave stroked his goatee thoughtfully while JJ shook her head in amazement.

"He didn't even discuss the case with her? He just told Emily to take the deal?" JJ asked, her confusion turning to irritation.

"That is correct."

"And she believes Stanton is collaborating with Strauss?" Dave asked. Hotch nodded. "What do you think?"

Hotch took a few minutes to gather his thoughts before answering. "I believe she is up to something so I wouldn't put this past her."

JJ crossed her arms and let out a snort of disgust. "She has never liked Emily. She's always looking for a way to drum her out of the bureau and now this false arrest is giving her the means to do so."

Neither man commented since both knew it was true. "Are you planning on contacting the Ambassador regarding getting Prentiss a new lawyer?"

"I don't have to. She already has a new one."

"Who?" JJ asked in puzzlement.

Hotch looked back and forth between the two. "Me."

A slow crooked smile crept across Dave's face as he nodded his approval. "Good choice. She needs someone she can trust to keep the DA from screwing her over to make the case."

"That makes me feel better," JJ said with a small sigh of relief, "to know Emily is in good hands."

Dave chuckled. "This is going to go over well with Strauss."

The corner of Hotch's mouth curled into a smile. "Without a doubt."

* * *

><p>Emily reclined on the bunk, hands behind her head and stared up at the blank, gray ceiling. There was nothing for her to do. Hotch had to get the files from Stanton so she couldn't review her own case. She desperately wanted to get a look at the solid evidence they supposedly had on her. Mostly she wanted to shove that evidence down Morrissey's throat and watch him choke on it as his career went up in flames around him. Until then, Emily was left with only her thoughts for entertainment, feeling more depressed with each passing stray thought.<p>

"Agent Prentiss?"

She started at her own name, having quickly gotten immune to all the guards calling her Fed with a sneer. Emily sat up to find a guard she didn't recognize on the other side of her cell door. He looked to be of Spanish descent and so youthful looking he was probably a recent graduate of the police academy. She squinted at his nametag.

"Yes, Officer Cruz?" she asked politely.

"There's a Dr. Reid in the waiting area," he said. "He was wondering if he could visit."

"Oh," she said and looked away.

Reid. Why wasn't she surprised? It was probably because he was the only one on the team who wouldn't take Hotch or her at his or her own words. He had to see with his very own eyes that she was okay. Whereas it had taken her a long time to learn the meaning of the word family, Reid had immediately embraced the team as his. And when something happened to one of them, it sent his world spinning out of control. Emily knew he thought of her as the older sister who would gladly beat the stuffing out of the bully who had pushed down her little brother on the playground. She had reinforced that belief back in Colorado when she had intentionally blown her cover to protect him. Now Reid wanted to do the same for her.

"Agent Prentiss? What do you want me to tell him?" Cruz asked.

Emily sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "Please tell him that I'm sorry."

Officer Cruz nodded and departed. She sighed again and lay back down. Emily covered her eyes with her arm and tried to box away the guilt she felt for turning him away before it ate her alive.

* * *

><p>Reid nervously paced the small confines of the waiting area. He knew he had taken a big risk by going against Emily's wishes and showing up at the jail. But he held on to a small hope that she would change her mind once she knew he was here. All he wanted to do was to make sure she was okay. Being accused and arrested for murder could easily send the strongest of people into an emotional tailspin. Yes, he had seen Emily from a distance when she had been loaded on to the jail transport after her arraignment but he needed to see her up close.<p>

"Dr. Reid?"

He spun around on his heels. "Yes?"

Officer Cruz shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Agent Prentiss said she is sorry."

"I see," he said with a swallow, trying hard not to let the disappointment show on his face and in his voice.

He had really hoped Emily would say yes. Reid repressed a sigh and went over to the counter. From his satchel he removed some paperbacks and a puzzle book. "Do you think you can give these to her?" he asked.

"I don't know—" Cruz hesitated.

"I know policy dictates that books and magazines for inmates must be shipped in directly from the vendors. But could you make an exception this time? They're harmless," Reid said.

Cruz mulled it over then nodded. "I'll do it this time only. The rest will have to come through the mail."

"Understood."

Reid watched as the officer flipped through the pages and checked the binding, looking for hidden contraband. Satisfied that they were clean, he picked up the stack of books. "I'll give them to her."

"Thank you," Reid said. "Umm…could you do me one more favor?"

Cruz stopped and turned to him. "Sure."

"Could you tell Agent Prentiss that I thinking about her?"

* * *

><p>"Agent Prentiss?"<p>

Emily sighed and raised her arm just high enough to see who it was this time at the door of her cell. It was Officer Cruz. She let her arm drop back over her eyes.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Dr. Reid asked me to give these to you," he said.

She sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bunk, seeing that the young officer had an armload of books. Emily got up and went over to the cell door where he proceeded to pass the books, one by one, to her through the bars.

When he was done, he said, "He also wanted me to tell you that he was thinking about you."

Emily looked at him and slowly nodded. "Thank you."

"Sure," he said and left her alone.

She just stood there until she heard the security gate slam shut. Then she turned and slowly made her way back to the bunk. She placed the stack of books down on it and sat next to them. Emily didn't look at them, once again feeling guilty for turning down his request. She could have said yes but the visit wouldn't have happened here in her cell. Instead, they would have made Reid wait in one of the private visitation rooms and they would have paraded her in shackled hand and foot. It was demeaning and she refused to let the team see her that way. It was bad enough that Hotch had already seen her this way.

Emily reached over and fingered the top book. A small smile formed on her lips. It was sweet of him to bring her some books to help pass the time. So very Reid like, thinking of her needs. She made a mental note to personally thank him for his kindness when she got out of this mess. Emily randomly selected a book, opened it to the first page and let it help her escape, at least for a few hours, the personal hell she was in.

* * *

><p>Derek stood across the street from the police station, glowering at the building. His body was rigid from the anger coursing through it, from the clenched jaw to his fists that were curled into tight balls. His mind was in turmoil. He was furious at the way the police were treating his partner. They weren't showing her the respect she deserved. <em>Damn it! Emily's a decorated agent,<em> he fumed.

What tore him up inside was how angry he was at Emily. How dare she try to push them away and handle this on her own? Derek had thought she had made a lot of progress over the past year in being more open with them and asking for help. But the moment things got too tough; she reverted back to the old Emily. She slammed closed her walls of protection, retreated behind them and distanced herself from her friends.

"I'm not going to let you do that to us again," he vowed.

His mind made up, Derek stormed across the street and entered the police station. By flashing his badge, he easily gained access to the detention center. He marched through the waiting area and up to the security booth outside of the Special Housing Unit.

The young officer on duty looked up and frowned slightly. "Uh…Sir? You're not allowed back here. It's a restricted area so you'll have to leave."

Derek slapped his credentials against the bulletproof glass. "I'm Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan and I need to speak to one of your prisoners, Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, immediately. Buzz me through," he ordered.

Calling Emily a prisoner left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Cruz glanced down at the clipboard lying on the countertop. "I'm afraid I can't let you past. You're not on her authorized visitor's list."

Derek narrowed his eyes and put on his best intimidating face. "That doesn't matter. This is official FBI business. Now let me through."

"I'm sorry, Agent Morgan. We have our orders. No one, especially the FBI, isn't allowed access to the prisoner unless they are on the list. And your name isn't there," Cruz patiently explained.

"Then get your supervisor over here," he said, fixing the young officer with a steely gaze.

"Umm…sure," Cruz agreed uncertainly and picked up the phone. "You'll have to wait in the waiting area."

"I'm not going anywhere," Derek declined.

Without saying another word, the dark agent moved over to the locked gate and stared through the bars down the short corridor. He counted six cells on the left hand side. They all appeared to be empty, but that was an optical illusion. Emily was unwillingly occupying one of them. The images of his best friend being manhandled by the cops while shackled hand and foot like a common thug sent his temper skyrocketing. He began to pace back and forth in front of the gate.

_Shit! Why does she have to be so damn stubborn?_ He silently swore. _All I want to do is to talk some sense into her thick head._

Derek stopped and stared back through the gate. It was a short corridor so there was a chance that she was within earshot. He took a deep breath and wrapped his hands around the bars.

"Damn it, Prentiss!" he shouted. "Don't push us away! We only want to help."

There was a condescending chuckle behind him. He spun around to find Detective Morrissey standing there with a smirk on his face.

"I hear you're having trouble understanding the rules. I thought you FBI agents were supposed to be so smart," he taunted.

Derek held his tongue, refusing to take the bait. Instead he stared at the man he loathed.

Morrissey continued. "I mean it is a rather simple rule. The prisoner can choose who they want to talk to though I don't believe they even deserve that right. They are just dumb criminals who got caught. We should lock them in cramp cells, throw away the key and forget all about them. They aren't worth our time and effort."

"You better watch your mouth, Morrissey," Derek warned, his eyes narrowly dangerously. "That's my partner you're talking about."

"My bad," the detective said innocently. He casually approached the gate and looked at the cells. "I have a good idea why the prisoner refuses to speak to you. Don't you want to know why, Agent?" He didn't wait for Derek to answer; he was enjoying this too much.

"I'll tell you why. It's because your partner is a coward. She can't look you in the eyes because she knows she killed a man in cold blood. She's as guilty as they come."

Derek got in his face. "I told you to watch your mouth!"

He wanted to grab the detective by the lapels of his suit jacket and slam him into the bars of the gate. It would have given him a great deal of satisfaction to watch the pain swipe the smirk off his arrogant face. But he resisted the urge, not wanting to stoop to his level. Derek exhaled a deep breath to calm his indignation and took a step back.

Morrissey's grin widened when he saw that he had struck a nerve. He noticed the clenched jaw and hands and the rage simmering in his dark eyes_. God, Feds are so easy to rile up. _

"Go ahead, Agent Morgan. Give me a reason to throw your sorry ass in jail. You'll love solitary confinement as much as your partner does," he said with derision.

"You're not worth the effort," Derek said in a low voice, locking eyes with him.

"You're not getting to see the prisoner so I suggest that you leave now. Otherwise I will have you physically removed from the premises and report you to your superiors."

"This isn't over, Morrissey. Not by a long shot," Derek warned before turning and walking away.

"Yes it is," the detective said with a grin.

* * *

><p>Raised voices at the end of the short corridor caught Emily's attention. She set the book she was reading aside and got off the bunk. She went over to the far side of her cell door, wrapped her hands around the bars and peered out, trying to catch a glimpse of who was talking. Unfortunately her cell was at the end of the row so the angle was bad. The only thing she could determine was that one of the voices was familiar.<p>

"Damn it, Prentiss! Don't push us away! We only want to help."

"Merde! It's Morgan," she swore and hastily backed away from the cell door.

First Reid shows up and now Morgan. _And they call me stubborn,_ she thought. _I should have known better. _He was obvious pissed and in his over protective mode. He's been like that since her return from the dead. Treating her like a delicate piece of glass that could shatter into a million little pieces at the first sign of danger. In the beginning she hadn't minded it so much. At the time she had been more emotionally fragile and she drew strength from his protectiveness to get through the bad days. Now the good days far outnumbered the bad and she was now finding that his hovering was becoming tedious.

She stared at the bars. "I'm not pushing you guys away," she said softly to the empty cell. "I need you to focus on solving the case, not on my personal dilemma. I'm depending on you guys to get me out of here."

Another voice joined the conversation. Emily moved closer to the cell door, trying to figure out who the newcomer was. The voices were angry but they were too far away for her to make out what was being said in the heat of the moment.

The voices suddenly ceased and silence fell over the small cellblock. It was quickly shattered by the clank of the security gate sliding open. Emily heard the echo of footsteps approaching. At first she had thought Derek had managed to bluff his way past the guard on duty but the tread didn't belong to him. Derek's stride was confident and determined. This one's was heavy and clumsy sounding. Emily moved back to the center of her cell and waited to see who was about to pay her an unwanted visit.

Morrissey's leering mug appeared on the other side of the door. He gave her an appraising once over. "I do believe the inmate stripes and bars suit you, Emily."

Emily cocked her head to one side, leveling cold eyes on him. "Agent Prentiss," she corrected coolly.

He chuckled and ran a finger along one of the bars. "I doubt you still are one. I wouldn't be surprised if you have already been stripped of your gun and badge."

He glanced at her to gage her reaction to that but he ended up disappointed. She merely blinked at him. He decided to change tactics since this approach wasn't working. He wanted to rile her up.

"I've noticed that your partner, Agent Morgan, is very protective of you. I had to threaten him with throwing him in jail to get him to leave." He winked at her. "To me, his concern seems to be more than professional, a little too personal. Are you shacking up with your partner behind your bosses back?"

Emily didn't dignify that with an answer. She stepped closer to the cell door and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Morrissey?" she asked in a bored tone.

"I thought, _Emily,_ we could talk about the sweet deal the ADA is offering you. I still haven't heard your version of the events," he pressed. He wanted her confession.

She discretely inched even closer to her cell door. "You know you can't talk to me without my lawyer present."

The detective let out a wicked laugh. "Last I had heard you had fired yours. Something about a difference of opinion," he said innocently, casually waving a hand in the air. "No lawyer makes you fair game," he lied.

Legally he knew she was off limits the moment she had evoked her rights but he was still hoping to provoke her into letting a crucial piece of evidence slip. The deal the Assistant DA offered stuck in his craw. It made it sound like the case he had built against her was shaky. In his mind it was rock solid and he wanted Emily to go away for life, not to be able to waltz out of prison after a mere fifteen years.

By now Emily was standing directly in front of the bars. She smiled sweetly at him, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Sorry to disappoint you, detective," she taunted, "but I already have a new lawyer."

Morrissey frowned. He hadn't heard that. "Who?" He demanded in suspicion.

"Agent Hotchner," she revealed.

"Your Unit Chief?" he asked in disbelief.

Emily gave him another cold smile. "He used to be a Federal Prosecutor. He's going to mop the floor with you and I'm going to enjoy watching him do it."

She feinted shoving an arm between the bars, making him jump back out of her reach. Disturbed by the news, he lost control of his composure.

"I wish Massachusetts still had the death penalty. I would love to see you fry!" he ranted, his face turning red.

Emily casually rested her arms on one of the cross bars on the cell door. "The only thing that is going to get fried is your career. I hope they bust you back down to beat cop and station you in the worst neighborhood in town."

Morrissey stared daggers at her, unable to come up with a suitable response. With a low growl, he spun on his heels and stomped away.

"It was fun chatting with you, Teddy. Let's do it again," she taunted at his departing back.

Grinning, Emily returned to her bunk. That had felt good. It had felt good to be able to release some of the tension that had building in her. Now she knew she could make it through another day without the cracks in her psyche showing.

* * *

><p><em>So now we know where Derek and Reid had gone. Shame they didn't get to see her. Please come back next week to see what fate has in store for everyone. And don't forget to let me know what you thing. All much appreciated. Until then.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello everyone. Glad you stopped in for another chapter. There is a lot going on in this one so I'll let you get to it. Now on with the show!_

* * *

><p>The next morning Emily found herself once again in front of a judge. She sat at the defendant's table listening with one ear to the Assistant DA listing the reasons why Hotch shouldn't be allowed to be her lawyer while he smoothly countered her arguments. Every now and then she would glance up to gage the judge's reaction. He seemed to be as bored with the proceedings as she was so she returned to playing with the chain that connected her handcuffs to the leg irons.<p>

"Your Honor, I must protest Agent Hotchner acting as the defendant's lawyer," the woman DA insisted, fairly bristling with indignation as she stood next to her chair. "He is her supervisor. This is clearly a conflict of interest."

Hotch stood calmly at their table and directed his comments directly to the judge. "Yes, "I'm Agent Prentiss' Unit Chief but I have taken a leave of absence from my position to represent her. I will not be using any of the Bureau's resources to aid me in her defense."

"He's an FBI agent. What experience does he have in the courtroom?" she countered.

"I was a Federal Prosecutor for ten years before joining the Bureau." He arched an eyebrow at her. "And still an active member of the bar. I do believe that makes me qualified to act as Prentiss' legal counsel," he said smoothly.

"Your—"

"I've heard enough," the judge declared, interrupting the two lawyers. "I want to hear from the person most affected by this. Miss Prentiss?"

Emily's head shot up. "Yes, Your Honor?" she asked, rising to her feet and standing at attention.

He locked a stern eye on her. "Do you have any objections to Agent Hotchner representing you now and at your future trial?"

She glanced briefly at her boss. "None at all, Sir," she said with a shake of her head. "My previous lawyer didn't have my best interests in mind. All he wanted to do was to plea out the case. With Agent Hotchner, I know he has my back and that he will defend me to the best of his abilities."

"That's good enough for me," the judge announced. "Your motion is denied, Counselor." The woman DA made a frustrated face at his ruling.

"Your Honor," Hotch directed to the judge. "At this time my client does not wish to waive her right to a speedy trial and requests that a prelim be held as soon as possible."

The judge eyeballed him. "Are you sure you want to do that? Most defense lawyers prefer to go directly to trial."

"Yes, Sir. I do."

He shrugged and consulted his calendar. "The prelim will be two weeks from today."

The judge pounded the gavel once, stood up and exited the courtroom. The fuming Assistant DA, after casting a glare at the defense table, followed his example.

"Well said, Emily," Hotch said with a small smile.

"It's the truth," she said honestly.

He started to gather up his papers. "Now that we got this out of the way, we can finally get a good look at your case."

"It's about time," she stated as the bailiff came over to take custody of her. He took her by the arm and began to steer her to the door.

"Agreed. I'll see you back at the jail."

"I'll be there. I'm always there," she said with a nod then let the bailiff lead her out of the courtroom.

As he watched her shuffle through the door, Hotch noted several subtle changes in Emily. When she had entered the courtroom earlier, an air of defeat hung about her. She must have assumed the judge would have barred him from being her lawyer and forcing her to hire another one. Another lawyer she couldn't trust. Now she moved with her shoulders a little straighter and he caught a certain a look in her eyes. It was a glimmer of hope.

* * *

><p>At the same time Emily was suffering through an unplanned court hearing, the rest of the team was walking reluctantly through the glass doors of the BAU. None of them had wanted to leave Emily in her greatest hour of need, but Strauss had left them no choice. It had been come back immediately or don't bother to return. All four were quite willing to put their jobs on the line to help their troubled friend, but they also knew Emily wouldn't want them to do that. So they didn't want to add to her guilt and had caught the red eye from Massachusetts to DC.<p>

Penelope was the first one to greet them. "Be warned," she hissed in a loud whisper. "The Dragon Lady is on the warpath."

Before any of them had a chance to comment, Strauss entered behind them. "Conference room. Now," she ordered.

They all exchanged wary glances with each other before following the Section Chief. While they silently took their seats, Strauss moved to the head of the table and assumed a defensive posture. Her arms were crossed and she wore a deep frown. She pinned each person with her hard stare before speaking.

"Let me make this perfectly clear. The Prentiss debacle is off limits. I don't want to see or hear that any one of you is working her case on the side. It is a conflict of interest nor shall it ever be a BAU case." She paused for any protests.

When there were none, she continued. "Agent Prentiss is not our concern. As of this morning, she is no longer a member of this team."

That got a reaction. Everyone started talking at once, though Derek's protest was the loudest of all. "You fired her?" he demanded, his jaw and fists clenched in anger.

"No," Strauss said, locking her steely gaze on him. Derek didn't flinch. "She has been suspended pending the outcome of her trial. Afterwards her employment will most likely be terminated."

"So Prentiss is screwed even if she is found innocent? That's a load of crap," he growled.

"No one would trust or come to us if we kept on an agent who had been tried for murder even if he or she were found innocent. Everyone would assume we had pulled strings to get them off."

Dave shook his head in disappointment. "That's just politics, Erin."

"You care more about the Bureau's image than you do about the welfare of a member of your own staff," JJ said coolly. Reid and Penelope nodded in agreement.

Strauss glared at her. "Agent Prentiss brought this down upon herself by killing a man in cold blood." She turned her attention to the senior profiler. "Agent Rossi, you will be in charge of the team while Agent Hotchner is on a leave of absence and off pursuing this folly."

She glanced at Derek. "I was going to give the job to Agent Morgan since he did a fine job leading this team when Agent Hotchner temporarily stepped down. But I can see that he is too emotionally involved and not thinking clearly."

"I will be expecting daily progress reports," she said to Dave who nodded.

Her eyes made their way around the table, hopping from face to face. "I will be monitoring each of you very closely. It's time to focus on the people who need our help and not on the ones who don't. Now get to work." With a curt nod to everyone, the Section Chief headed for the door.

"At least Hotch is on Emily's side and is watching her back," JJ muttered softly.

Strauss froze in the doorway and slowly turned around. "And that could lead to his downfall as well." She sent them one last glare before exiting the conference room.

The team sat in silence for several minutes, waiting to see if Strauss might reappear. When she didn't, they released the collective breaths they were holding and glanced worriedly at each other.

"She thinks Emily is guilty," Penelope said angrily.

"That she does," Dave said with a nod.

"And she's not going to lift a finger to help her," Reid stated sadly.

"No she isn't," Dave agreed. "Morgan, do you still have the key to Prentiss' house?"

Penelope raised her hand. "Actually I have it. I went over last night to set up all the computers we're going to need. I wanted to be prepared when Hotch called."

"Good idea," he said in approval. Dave glanced at each other. "Shall we meet at Emily's place at six? That gives Hotch plenty of time to review the evidence with her." Everyone nodded in agreement.

"But what do we do in the meantime?" Reid asked.

Dave stood up with a wry smile. "It's business as usual."

* * *

><p>The mysterious Suit was sitting on a bench outside the courtroom, idly pretending to read the newspaper. He had heard from his source that Emily Prentiss was making an unscheduled appearance before the judge. He knew she had been offered a deal, making him to wonder if she was going to accept it, then he quickly dismissed it. From his intensive research on the agent, he knew she wouldn't take responsibility for his crime. Instead, she would fight tooth and nail to clear her name. Of course that wasn't going to happen. The frame up he had built against her was rock solid. In the end she was going to be found guilty and sent away for life. Even the lawyer she had fired knew she didn't have a leg to stand on.<p>

Since the hearing was closed to the public, he had no idea what was going on. All Suit could do was to wait and see what the lawyers said outside the courtroom. It still amazed him how much could be learned by eavesdropping on the conversations conducted in the hallowed corridors of the courthouse. His patience was soon rewarded. A pissed off Assistant DA stormed out of the courtroom and whipped out her cell phone.

"The judge denied my motion," she spat into the instrument. "He's still her lawyer."

Suit's eyebrows went up slightly at that. _Emily Prentiss has a new lawyer already? She only fired the other one yesterday. Her mother must have pulled some strings to get one here that fast. I wonder who it is?_ He went back to his eavesdropping.

"Yes, I plan on doing that. He has more influence with the defendant than the previous lawyer had." She nodded in agreement to whatever was being said on the other end then hung up.

Now he was definitely curious to who was her new legal representative. The door of the courtroom opened and Aaron Hotchner stepped out, briefcase in hand. Unbidden his eyebrows shot up even higher. _Her boss is her new lawyer? That's a new twist. _ He had been expecting a high power defense attorney in a three-piece suit, not a stodgy FBI agent.

"Agent Hotchner," the Assistant DA called out.

He stopped and turned around. "Yes?" he asked politely.

"I wanted to let you know that the deal is still on the table. Murder two, thirty years with a chance of parole in fifteen. I'm sure—"

"The answer is no," Hotch said, cutting her off in mid-sentence. "My client prefers to take her chances with the jury and I concur. See you it court, Counselor." He gave a curt nod, turned his back on her and walked away to keep his appointment with Emily at the jail.

The Assistant DA stared at his departing back before spinning on her high heels and headed off in the opposite direction. Only then did Suit allow a smile creep across his face. That had been highly entertaining and informative. _Her Unit Chief acting as her lawyer. She must be really desperate to convince him to do it, _he thought in amusement. Suit was perfectly happy with that. Agent Hotchner's inexperience will only get Emily Prentiss convicted and off to rot in prison faster. Still chuckling to himself, he rose to his feet and head outside to inform his employer of the latest developments.

* * *

><p>Hotch idly drummed his fingers on the table in the visitation room while he waited for the guard to escort Emily in. The appearance before the judge had gone a lot better than he had thought it would. He had honestly thought the judge would agree with the Assistant DA that it was a conflict of interest and bar him from representing Emily. But her honest answer to his question had convinced him not to. Hotch had also been surprised at how easily he had slipped back into the role of a lawyer. The door across from him opened and a young Hispanic guard stepped through with Emily. As always her hands were cuffed to her waist. He guided her over to the chair.<p>

"You can uncuff her," he ordered and waited to see how the guard would react.

So far all the guards he had encountered have been hostile to both of them and had refused to remove the restraints. Cruz didn't bat an eye and pulled out his keys. While he unlocked the handcuffs, Hotch took that time to take a closer look at Emily. Being locked up in jail for almost three days were starting to take its toll on her. There were dark circles under her eyes from poor sleep and it looked like she had lost a little weight. Her complexion was paler than normal and this morning in court he had thought her voice had sounded a little rough as if she was coming down with something.

"Just hit the buzzer when you're ready to leave and I'll get her," Cruz said when he was done.

"Could we have some water?" Hotch asked.

"Sure," he said with a nod and exited, the door locking behind him.

"Hey," Emily said as she sat down and rubbed her wrists.

"Hey," he said and cocked his head to one side. "Are you feeling all right?"

She frowned slightly. "Yes. Why are you asking?"

"I noticed that your voice is sounding a little scratchy like you're catching a cold."

Emily sighed and rubbed the space between her eyes. "I've been fighting a sinus cold since we've been here. And now that I'm in jail, I don't have access to any cold medication so its not getting better."

Hotch nodded. "I'll make arrangements for a doctor to come in and see you."

"Hotch, you don't have—" she started to protest.

"Prentiss, the last thing you need right now is to get sick," he overrode her objection.

She blew out a breath of frustration and stared out the barred window. "Fine," she conceded.

"Good," Hotch said.

Officer Cruz reentered the room and the two occupants fell silent. He set two bottles of water down in the middle of the table then slipped back out. Hotch took one for himself and slid the other one over to Emily.

"Drink," he instructed. "You need to stay hydrated."

Emily shot him a look, but did as she was told. She picked up the bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a deep drink. The cold water felt good on her scratchy throat. When she had downed half, he attempted to lighten the mood in the tiny room.

"So how are the accommodations?" he casually asked.

Her eyes drifted up to his and a small smile formed on her lips. She knew what he was trying to do. He was giving her a chance to vent some of her frustrations in the best well she knew how. Emily set the bottle down and turned it slowly.

"Not bad," she said sarcastically. "I have a place to rest my head though it's uncomfortable as hell. I get three square meals a day that are unrecognizable. I don't have to worry about what to wear though I'm not a fan of stripes. And I got the whole cell block to myself, but I'm not allowed to go anywhere."

"Anything else?"

Emily thought for a moment. "Oh! I got to take a shower today and I spent forty minutes outside breathing in the fresh air and soaking up the sunshine in a space not much bigger than a dog run with razor wire fencing."

"Sounds wonderful," Hotch said drolly.

"You should try it sometime," she suggested with a smirk.

The two agents looked at each other across the table. "Thank you," Emily said softly. "I needed that."

"You're welcomed," he said with a nod. "Feeling more centered?"

"Yes."

"Then lets get started on your defense."

Hotch retrieved his briefcase from where it rested on the floor next to his chair. He pulled out a thick file, placed it in front of him and set the case to one side.

"Did you have a chance to look at it?" Emily asked, eyes locked on the file. She didn't like the thickness of it.

"No," he answered. "I wanted to examine it with you. Before we do, lets quickly review what Morrissey said he had on you."

Emily nodded. "He said they had my blood and fingerprints at the scene. There was video of me leaving the hotel the night of the murder. And supposedly there is a witness who said I bought a gun off of him."

"Right," Hotch said. "They also executed search warrants on your hotel room, the room's phone and your cell phone."

She snorted in annoyance. "They're not going to find anything. I never called him nor would I be stupid enough to bring bloody clothes and murder weapon back to my room."

Hotch consulted the file. "They didn't. The gun was found disassembled in various garbage bins five blocks from the hotel. It was wiped clean and it was a ballistic match to the slugs pulled out of Hill. Now a search of his phone did show a call placed to your room at 7:15 pm. And it lasted approximately two minutes."

Emily shook her head. "I never got it. The room phone never rang the entire time I was there. Maybe there was a glitch in the system and the call went to a different room."

"I've have Garcia look into that," Hotch pulled out a legal pad and made a note of it.

"Does it say when he died?" she asked. "Nobody has told me what day I supposedly waltzed into his place and gunned him down."

He flipped through the file until he found a copy of the autopsy report. "It says Saturday night somewhere between 8 and 11 pm. Three rounds were found in the body. One to the shoulder and two to the heart."

She frowned. "Can I see that?"

"Sure," he agreed and slid the report across the table.

Emily turned it around and studied the picture of the dead man who was making her life a living hell from the grave. "If I had fired the gun, all three rounds would have been to the heart. I wouldn't have shot him in the shoulder; there was no reason to. How do they think it went down?"

Hotch frowned as he read. "According to Detective Morrissey, you went there with every intention of killing him. You shot him in the shoulder to incapacitate him and then moved in for the kill. Then you erased any evidence of presence and left."

"Apparently I didn't do a very good job," Emily wisecracked, tossing the report on the table in disgust. "I still managed to leave behind my fingerprints and blood."

"Apparently," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"And where was I dumb enough to leave my prints?"

"On a glass that rolled underneath the couch. And there was a bloody tissue in the trash."

"Huh." Emily crossed her arms and stared moodily out the barred window.

She didn't like the way the evidence seemed to building up against her. Whoever had framed her was very good so that meant they had to be better and find the minute flaws in his plan. Nothing was perfect; there were always imperfections.

Then a thought occurred to her and she slowly turned back to him. "What night was he murdered on again?"

"Saturday evening."

Emily leaned forward, her eyes bright with eagerness. "I didn't leave the hotel that night. I came back with you guys and went straight to bed. My head was killing me so I took a couple of cold pills and they knocked me out."

Hotch dug through the file and produced a picture. "They have a photo of you taken from the surveillance cameras showing you exiting the hotel at 7:20," he said with a puzzled frown.

"But I did leave the hotel Friday night around that time to run out to the all night drugstore to get something for my cold," she said poking the table with her finger to emphasize her point.

He picked up the photo and studied the time stamp. "You think he hacked into the hotel's security system and changed the date to make it look like you left Saturday night?"

Emily shrugged. "Anything is possible. The drugstore should have a record of my purchase. Sinus medication is a controlled substance. You have to buy it directly from the Pharmacist. You also have to show your driver's license and sign the agreement before they will give it to you."

"Unless he hacked into their system too," he pointed out, hating to be the spoilsport.

She sighed and dropped her gaze to scarred tabletop. She reached out and ran a thumb over a particularly deep gouge. "I don't even want to think about that." The enthusiasm she had felt when she had thought they had a breakthrough faded into frustration.

Hotch felt the same way. "I'll still have Garcia check it out," he told her, making another note.

"If he did, I still have the receipt and the box. She might be able to trace the lot number back to that particular store. Plus she has my permission to access my credit card account. Both would create reasonable doubt." Emily sniffed and absently rubbed her nose.

"Good idea. Hacking a major credit card company is a lot more difficult than hacking into a single store," he agreed.

He looked up from the legal pad, frowned, reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Here," he said, holding it out to her.

She frowned at the white cloth he was holding. "Huh?"

"Your nose. It's bleeding."

Her eyes widened. "It's what? Oh shit!" she exclaimed, snatching the handkerchief from his hand and pressing it to her bloody nose.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

Emily waved off his concern. "It's no big deal. I sometimes get nosebleeds when I have a sinus cold though this one could be caused by the stress I'm under."

Hotch's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Have you been having them all week?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Uh…yes. They've been hitting me at night."

"That's how the tissue with your blood ended up at the crime scene," he mused. "I couldn't figure that one out."

Emily's confusion deepened then it slowly changed to anger when she fully understood what Hotch was saying.

"The bastard was in my hotel room."

* * *

><p><em>Hope you enjoyed it. Like I said there was a lot going on. Strauss being Strauss. Emily and Hotch discovering the real killer had been in her hotel room. Intriguing I do believe and hope. Do come back next week what I have in store for our agents. Until then.<em>


	8. Chapter 8

_Aloha to all. I must say I've been floored by the response to this story. It is truly awesome. Now let us get back to the story since we left Emily in mid-rant. Lets see how it goes. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>"The bastard was in my hotel room," she growled. "Pawing through my stuff with his dirty hands."<p>

Emily felt angry and violated at the same time. Unable to sit still, she got up and started to pace the small room. She alternated between holding the bloodstained handkerchief to her nose and clenching it in one fist. Hotch urged her to sit back down, but she ignored him.

Her eyes flashed with indignation. "He broke into my hotel room, lifted my prints, stole a bloody tissue and planted both at the crime scene." She stopped long enough to run a frustrated hand through her hair. "What else did he take?"

"Morrissey did confiscate one of your blouses. It tested positive for gunshot residue on the right sleeve," Hotch said. "It was found in the bag for the hotel laundry service to pick up."

Emily turned around. "Which one was it?"

"This one." Hotch pulled out another photo and laid it on the table.

She walked over and stared at it in disbelief. "This is the shirt they said I was wearing when I killed Hill?"

"According to the report, yes."

She jammed the photo with her finger. "I was wearing this on Friday, not Saturday. Remember that Reid spilled his coffee over me and I ended wearing my blazer for the rest of the day to hide the stain?"

"I do." Hotch also remembered how mortified the young genius had been and how he kept apologizing to her about it. At one point Emily had looked like she was ready to strangle him or dump a pot of coffee over his head.

"When I got back to my room that night I put that shirt out for the hotel's laundry service. I got it back the next morning and hung it up in the closet."

Hotch paused to collect his thoughts. "So you're saying the UnSub broke into your room some time during the day on Saturday. He borrowed the blouse he saw you wearing the day before, made sure there was gunshot residue on it and then returned it to you room Sunday morning."

"Exactly," she exclaimed triumphantly.

He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. "But the prosecution could argue that you simply put the clean blouse back on."

"Where's the picture of me leaving?" Emily pawed through the photos strewed over the tabletop. "Here it is." She studied it for a moment then turned it around and pointed to her image. "Look at what I'm wearing."

Hotch looked closer and a smile crept on to his face. "A royal blue turtleneck and a windbreaker."

"And the jacket is not zipped so you can clearly see that I'm not wearing the blouse under it."

"The ADA would just say you hid it in your purse."

Emily smiled. "I don't bring a purse when I'm on a case. I just shove what I need in my pockets."

"Unfortunately its not enough to get the charges dropped or create reasonable doubt," Hotch said. "But lets keep at it. If we were able to find one mistake, we should be able to find more."

Emily nodded reluctantly in agreement and sat back down. With their heads bent close together, they started from the beginning.

* * *

><p>Three hours later Emily sat back in her chair and rubbed her forehead right above the eyes where the headache had settled. "We're just going around in circles, Hotch," she griped. "Whoever this bastard is, he's built a solid case against me."<p>

"Agreed," Hotch said and cracked his neck to get rid of the crick it had developed from poring over the files. "Lets call it for the day. You look like you can't even think straight."

"I can't," Emily admitted. "I don't think I can look at one more word without my eyes crossing."

Hotch chuckled and picked up the legal pad he had filled with copious notes. "We need fresh eyes, no pun intended. I'll run this all by the team later tonight."

"Garcia is going to be busy with all these searches."

"I think she only truly happy when she's digging through other computer systems," he commented as he gathered up everything.

"Probably." Emily nodded at the file. "Could I get a copy of that so I can keep working on my case between visits? I've got a lot of time on my hands to kill."

"Absolutely. I was planning on doing that," he answered.

"Thanks." Emily looked down at her hands and started to worry her thumbnail. "How's the team doing?" she asked in soft voice.

"They're worried about you and a little disappointed that you wouldn't let them visit," Hotch honestly answered.

"That didn't stop Reid or Morgan from trying." She kept her eyes downcast. "It's just that I need them focused on my case and getting me out of this hellhole. Having them constantly visiting me wouldn't accomplish anything except for making me feel guiltier for what I'm doing to them."

He leaned forward and rested his folded hands on the table. "Don't be. This is not your fault, Emily. None of this is."

She looked up. "And yet here I sit accused of murder and rotting away in jail," she shot back. Then she blew out a breath and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Hotch. I shouldn't have dumped that on you like that."

"You have every right to be angry and frustrated. I know I would be if I were in your position."

Emily let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Like I said before. I hope you never are." She stilled her hands and groped for a way to change the subject. "So what are your plans for tonight?" she ended up asking, making it sound like they were sitting around a table outside a café and not in a jail.

Hotch tucked the file in his briefcase. "Before I Skype with the team, I'm going to go to your hotel room and get the receipt and box."

She blinked in surprise. "Skype? They aren't here?" A sense of abandonment washed over her. They had turned her backs on her just like everyone else had done to her over the years.

He watched the hurt look come to her face and hurried to reassure her that she wasn't alone in this, that the team was still there for her. "They didn't leave of their own accord. Strauss ordered the team back to Quantico. And she implied termination for anyone who refused to return."

"Please tell no one, besides you decided to stay behind. I don't want to be the reason why they lost their jobs," she pleaded.

Hotch shook his head. "No. They all grudgingly went back to DC, but are now all more than determined than ever to prove your innocence."

"Good," Emily said with a sigh. "I don't need any more guilt added to the truckload I'm already carrying."

He smiled as he stood up and pressed the buzzer to summon the guard. "And what are your plans for tonight?"

She shrugged. "Not much. Contemplate the grayish color of the cell walls and ceiling. Maybe read one of the books Reid left for me. And probably watch the sunset in the little patch of sky I can see through the bars of my cell door."

It sounded very depressing to Hotch and it spurred on his desire to free her faster. Before he could comment on it, the door behind Emily opened and Officer Cruz poked his head in.

"Ready to leave?" he asked.

"Yes," Hotch said.

Cruz stepped all the way in and gestured for Emily to stand. She did so and held out her hands so that he could put the cuffs back on. Hotch watched silently as they were ratcheted into place.

"Not too tight?" Cruz asked once her hands were secured to her waist.

"No. They're fine," Emily answered. The young guard seemed to be the only cop who didn't take pleasure in putting the cuffs on too tightly.

"Prentiss, I'll see you in the morning hopefully with some good news," he told her.

Emily nodded. "I'll be here with handcuffs instead of bells on," she halfheartedly joked before Cruz lead her away.

* * *

><p>Emily lay on her bunk; eyes closed and massaged her forehead, trying to rub away the sinus headache. But no matter how hard she tried, it continued to pound behind her eyes. When she had first sat down with Hotch, it had been a minor annoyance, but it had grown to a full blown thundering headache by the time they had realized that whomever had framed her had done a damn good job.<p>

"I'd sell my soul right now for two aspirin," she grumbled and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Open C6."

The voice and the clanking of the cell door opening captured her attention. Groaning, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bunk and squinted through the pain. The guard and a gray haired woman Emily had never seen before stepped into the cell.

"If you don't feel safe, Doctor, we can cuff her," the guard offered.

Emily's eyebrows shot up. _Doctor?_ She thought in puzzlement. Then she remembered Hotch had said he would make arrangements for a physician to see her.

The woman gave the guard a patient look. "That won't be necessary. Now if I could have some privacy?"

"Uh…sure," he said and backed out of the cell. Seconds later the door clanked shut.

The doctor set her bag down on the metal table and studied the prisoner sitting on the bunk. She wondered if this woman was the FBI agent the papers had said had killed a man. It made sense since this was the Special Housing Unit of the jail where they locked up law enforcement offenders to keep them safe from the general population who would love to take a shot at a dirty cop. She seemed harmless enough, but looks can be deceiving.

"I'm Dr. Ryan. Your lawyer said you're not feeling good. A sinus cold?"

"Emily Prentiss," she said with a weak smile. "Yes. I've had it since we flew in…" she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead, trying to remember the day the she and the team had arrived. Being locked in a small cell for twenty-three out of twenty-four hours a day had thrown off her sense of time. "A week ago," she finally concluded.

Dr. Ryan nodded and opened her medical bag. "Lets get you checked out."

Fifteen minutes later she was done. "Well your sinus cold has turned into a sinus infection," she explained as she put away her stethoscope. "Do you have any allergies?"

Emily shook her head. "No."

"Good. I'm going to write out a prescription for an antibiotic and have the jail dispense it with your morning meal. It needs to be taken on a full stomach."

"Understood."

"Meanwhile I'll give you two Advil to help with the headache."

Dr. Ryan went over to the sink and filled the plastic drinking glass with water. Then she retrieved a packet from her bag, tore it open and handed the pills and the glass to Emily. Under the doctor's watchful eye, she took them and washed them down with a deep drink of water.

The doctor picked up her bag and moved over to the cell door. "If you don't start feeling better in a few days, let the guards or your lawyer know and I will come back."

Emily got up and held out her hand. "Thank you."

Dr. Ryan hesitated then gave her hand a quick shake. "My pleasure." She turned to the door and called out for the guard.

He popped up a minute later. "Move back, Fed," he ordered with a glare and his hand resting possessively on his gun.

Emily gave him a 'whatever' look and backed up. The guard waited until she was at the back of the cell before asking for the door to be opened. She remained motionless while the doctor exited. It was only after the cell door had slammed shut did she return to her bunk. Emily laid back down, pulled up the thin and scratchy blanket, closed her eyes against the pounding pain and waited for the pills to take effect so that she could get some sleep.

* * *

><p>Hotch inserted the keycard into the reader and waited for the light to flash green before turning the knob. He opened the door and paused halfway in to run his hand along the side of the door and to peer at the card reader for any signs of tampering. They were both clean so that meant the UnSub had stolen a passkey or had made his own copy. He made a mental note to check with the hotel manager to see if they kept records of how many times Emily's room had been accessed.<p>

Walking down the short hallway, he could see that Morrissey and his cronies hadn't been neat in their search of the hotel room. They had tossed the place. Drawers had been pulled out. The bed had been stripped and the mattress had been shoved halfway off the box spring. Emily's toiletries were strewed around the bathroom and the contents of her go-bag along with her books had been dumped on the floor. A fine coating of fingerprint powder covered every surface. Why they had dusted for fingerprints, he had no clue. Unless they had been hoping to find Hill's prints here. The evidence log didn't show that they had, but he wouldn't put it past Morrissey to withhold it.

He headed for the bathroom first, figuring it would be the most likely place she would keep the medication. But after an intense search, Hotch couldn't find the box or any of the blister packs. He moved to the main room and started the search again. He paid special attention to her go-bag and briefcase, carefully checking every corner and every pocket. He felt guilty about going through Emily's stuff, but it was a necessary evil if he wanted to prove her innocence. Again he found no sign of the medication, he had even looked in every trashcan. Hotch stood in the middle of the room and gazed around in frustration. The sinus pills were gone. Either Morrissey had taken them or the UnSub had and he was betting on the later as a counter measure to hide the fact that Emily had gone out on Friday and not Saturday.

Then he remembered the receipt. It hadn't turned up in his initial search but that didn't necessary mean that it too was missing. People either threw them out immediately or kept them for their records. Emily struck him as the type of person who would keep all of them until after the tax season was over and then destroy them. Hotch went back to look in her briefcase to see if she had put it there. All he found was a couple pens, a legal pad, three pocket notebooks filled with scribbles and the files she was consulting on. He also found her copy of their current case and her electronic tablet. But there was no sign of the receipt.

Hotch paused and played through his mind how to make a purchase with a credit card was transacted. You swipe the card, sign for it and the clerk hands you the receipt. Then you throw it in the bag or tuck it in your wallet or in your purse if you were a woman. But Emily said she didn't carry a purse while on a case. It was then that he remembered that she carried a slim wallet that held her driver's license, a credit card or two and some spending money. And where was it now? It was part of her personal property being held in custody by the police.

Now that he knew were to find the receipt, there wasn't any need to remain in the room. But before he left, Hotch decided to take Emily's belongings with him. Since the room wasn't considered a crime scene there was really no reason to keep it and let the hotel to continue to bill her for a room she wasn't using. Hotch gathered up her scattered toiletries and tucked them in their travel pouch. Then he repacked her go-bag, folding each article of clothing and placing it neatly inside. When he got to her books, he let out a soft sigh. Two of the covers were creased and some of the pages of the third one was bent and torn. Emily wasn't going to be happy when she saw the damage. He knew she liked to keep her books in good shape.

The books, he decided, he would take to the jail tomorrow and add them to the ones Reid had already sent her. The rest of her stuff he would keep in his room where it would be safe and waiting for her return. Shouldering the go-bag and grabbing the briefcase and books, he headed out. Hotch still had a few more stops to make before Skyping with the team.

* * *

><p>Emily had finished another tasteless dinner and had just settled on her bunk for another night of mind numbing boredom before lights out when someone approached her cell. She glanced up to see it was the female guard who taunted her whenever she could.<p>

"On your feet, Fed," Robinson ordered through the bars then held up a set of connected handcuffs and leg irons. "You know the drill."

With a resigned sigh, Emily got up and went over to the cell door where she let the guard put her in restraints. Once she was properly secured, the door slid open and she was taken into custody. Robinson set out at a brisk pace, forcing Emily into a stumbling gait to keep up.

"Where are we going?" she asked when they were waiting to be buzzed through one of the security gates.

The guard ignored the question. Instead, she gripped Emily's arm harder, gave it a hard jerk and propelled the helpless prisoner down the corridor. It didn't take Emily long to realize that they were heading to the visitation rooms, leaving her puzzled to why Hotch wanted to see her at this hour. _Maybe he had a breakthrough_, she thought with hope.

Robinson dragged her into the first room and unceremoniously shoved the brunette down in the chair. With her fingers digging painfully into Emily's shoulder, she addressed the other occupant of the room.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked.

"No. You can leave. We'll be fine."

The guard nodded then gave Emily shoulder a warning squeeze. "You mind your manners, Fed."

The brunette ignored Robinson and her warning, choosing to focus her attention on her unexpected visitor.

The visitor waited until the guard had exited the room before speaking. "Agent Prentiss," Erin Strauss said.

"Ma'am," Emily intoned in her most disrespectful voice.

The two women fell quiet, sizing each other up. Strauss took in the blue striped inmate scrubs and the shackles the agent was wearing. Secretly she thought they both looked good on her. Meanwhile Emily watched the small smile of satisfaction creep across the Section Chief's face.

"How are you doing?" Strauss asked in fake concern.

Emily tilted her head to one side and arched one not amused eyebrow. "How do you think I'm doing?" she countered.

Silence filled the room again as they continued to stare at each other. Normally Emily could easily outlast anyone in the silence department, but she didn't want to be in the same room with the woman she strongly disliked for any longer than necessary.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about or did you simply come here to gloat?" Emily asked, getting straight to the point.

Strauss folded her hands on the table. "I came here to see if I could get you to reconsider your decision."

"The plea deal," Emily said in a flat voice.

"Yes," she leaned in closer. "I'm told it's a good deal, Agent Prentiss. It's time for this charade to end. You need to accept responsibility for your actions and serve the time that is being offered to you. Thirty years is a whole lot better than life without parole."

"I see."

Though Emily's face was devoid of all emotion, under the table her handcuffed hands were clenched in white knuckled fists. Right now she was so angry that she wanted to leap across the table and wrap her hands around Strauss' neck. But luckily for the Section Chief the restraints prevented her from lifting her hands higher than her waist.

Unaware of the potential danger, Strauss continued on. "This way your team will have closure and be able to move on. Also Agent Hotchner won't wreck his career by trying to defend you in this hopeless endeavor."

Emily's eyes remained locked on the woman sitting across from her. "I take it you want my answer right now?"

Strauss unconsciously shifted under the penetrating stare. "Yes I would."

"No." The fierceness of Emily's answer had the Section Chief pushing her chair back from the table. "I refuse to go down for someone else's crime. Hotch and I will find the lowlife who framed me. We will nail his sorry ass to the wall and I will be exonerated of any wrongdoing."

"This was a waste of time," Strauss said with a loud sigh as she stood up. "Your recklessness will be your undoing."

Emily stood with her. "It wasn't a waste of time. I now know exactly where you stand."

"And where is that?" Strauss asked in suspicion and crossed her arms defensively.

"On the side of the prosecution."

Strauss blinked at the accusation. "I wish you the best of luck," she said and made for the door. _You're going to need_, she silently added.

"Ma'am."

She stopped just short of the exit and slowly turned around. She saw that Emily was now standing next to the table, apparently unconcerned that the shackles made her look every inch the convicted felon. But it was the agent's normally dark brown eyes that captured her attention. They were ice cold and nearly black. Instinctively she took a step back, nervous to be in the same room with her.

"Yes, Agent Prentiss?" she asked in a psuedo calm voice.

"I strongly recommend you think twice about firing me before this is resolved. If you do, I will sue you and the Bureau for unlawful termination of employment once I'm cleared of all charges. And I will be very public about it."

Strauss' eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat, Agent?"

"It's a fact, Ma'am," Emily said in a low voice. "I may hate politics but I can still play it with the best of them. I learned everything I needed to know at my Mother's knee. I suggest you remember that."

* * *

><p><em>Figures that Strauss would show up and totally make Emily's day. Do check in next week to see if there is any fallout from the unexpected visit. Until then.<em>


	9. Chapter 9

_It is amazing how quickly Wednesday seems to roll around. Seems like I just posted. Anyhoo lets go see if there is any fallout to Strauss' visit. Enjoy._

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><p>The team met up at Emily's row house at six. They had made sure that they all had left work separately or in small groups so that they wouldn't arouse Strauss' suspicion. Through most of the day the Section Chief had drifted in and out of the BAU to make sure everyone was working on what they were supposed to be and not on Emily's case. Shortly after three she stopped showing up and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Not one of them had liked the intense scrutiny they were under. But just because she stopped popping up didn't mean that she wasn't lurking around somewhere. So as a precaution they took great care of how they left.<p>

When Penelope unlocked the front door, Mutt was waiting eagerly next to the staircase. He wagged his tail slowly at each person as they entered, but his hazel eyes were locked on the entryway waiting for his human to enter. His tail stopped and his ears drooped when the last one through closed the door behind them. She didn't come home. With his head hanging low in dejection, Mutt trudged up the stairs and into the master bedroom. He nudged the closet door open, grabbed one of Emily's shirts out of the dirty laundry basket and retreated to his bed. He plopped down on it with a heavy sigh and laid his head on the shirt. Sergio, who had been sitting on one of the steps contemplating how best to annoy Derek, sensed the sadness in his canine companion and left to join him.

"He really misses her," Penelope commented sadly as she watched the dog head upstairs.

"Well Emily is the center of his universe," Derek agreed.

She nodded and they joined the rest of the team at Emily's dining/kitchen table where she had set up her computers. Penelope booted them up and on one she signed on to Skype. Then they settled down to wait for Hotch to join them.

Fifteen minutes later the Unit Chief's face appeared on the screen. He frowned at the background. _"Where exactly are you?"_ he asked in curiosity.

"We're at Prentiss' place," Dave explained. "Strauss read us the riot act this morning about her case being off limits so we decided to set up shop here away from any preying eyes."

"_Good idea. I had a suspicion she would."_

"She already believes Emily is guilty," JJ said.

"_I'm not surprised."_

"And she plans on firing her regardless of the outcome," Reid added.

Hotch's eyes narrowed. _"I won't allow that to happen."_

"We know you won't," Dave said.

"Did the two of you have a chance to go over her case?" Derek asked.

"_We did and we found a few interesting things,"_ Hotch said. _"I have Prentiss' case file ready. Where do you want me to send it?"_

Penelope rattled off an email address and Reid dashed down to Emily's study to retrieve the printouts. He returned momentarily and passed out the copies. Hotch let them studied the evidence for several minutes before filling them on what he and Emily had come up with and what he hadn't found in her hotel room.

"No signs of forced entry?" Derek asked, tossing his copies on the table.

"_None."_

"So he must have had a key. Were you able to get a look at the access log for her room?"

"_Not without a subpoena."_

"Well pooh on them," Penelope tsked, typing away at her keyboard. "I will have the logs in one momento."

The team gathered around her computer to look at the results. "Looks like Emily's room were entered three times Saturday. Twice in the afternoon and once in the evening," JJ read off.

"That's strange," Reid said with a puzzled look. "Why would the maid enter her room two times?"

"It wasn't Prentiss. She was either in the conference room or with me on the road. She was never alone," Derek pointed out.

"One of them must have been the UnSub masquerading as the maid service," the young genius decided.

"Where he lifts her prints and takes the blouse, bloody tissue and cold medication," Dave said.

JJ pointed at the screen. "And it happens again Sunday morning."

"Probably returning the blouse now covered in gunshot residue."

Derek leaned in. "Baby Girl, can you bring up the security footage for Prentiss' floor at those times?"

She frowned. "How does that…? Oh, you want to see who entered her room."

"You got it," he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Penelope hacked into another system. She sighed and looked up at her Chocolate Adonis with sad eyes. "No can do. It seems the system was down during both of those particular time frames."

While he pounded the table with a frustrated fist, Dave shook his head in disgust. "Smart. Knocking out the cameras on one floor might have looked suspicious so he crashes the entire system for a couple of hours. He's good."

"_That's the same conclusion we came to,"_ Hotch agreed. He turned his focus to the technical analyst. _"Garcia, how long will it take you to analyze the video of Prentiss leaving the hotel?"_

Penelope bit her lip thoughtfully. "Probably all night, Sir. I'll have to hack back into their system to get the original footage. Then I'll have to write a program to do the analysis since I can't use Persephone," she explained, using the name she gave to her FBI computer system.

"_And the drug store and her credit card?"_

"Those too will take awhile. Their systems are more complicated and secure, but I can do it."

Hotch nodded. _"Do the best you can. Then I can issue subpoenas to get the information the legal way."_

"I'm on it."

Reid, who had been quietly studying the crime scene photos, spoke up. "Hotch, are you planning on visiting the crime scene?"

"_As a matter of fact I am tomorrow. Why?"_

"While you're there could you take photos of Hill's glassware?"

Hotch frowned at the odd question. _"Sure."_

"Spence, what did you find?" JJ asked.

He shook his head in befuddlement. "I don't know. Something about the photo of the glass with Emily's prints on it strikes me as odd."

"Kid, her prints were planted on it," Derek pointed out.

His frown deepened. "That's not it. I'm just not too sure what it is. I don't want to make any hasty conclusions before I have the photos."

"_I'll get them for you,"_ Hotch assured him.

"In the meantime we'll go over the case with a fine tooth comb and look at Prentiss' previous cases. Hopefully we'll find someone who would hate her enough to try and frame her," Dave said.

"_Call me immediately if you uncover any leads."_

"Will do."

JJ shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Hotch, how is Emily doing?" she asked, her friend's welfare an ongoing affair.

"_She's doing okay given the circumstances,"_ he answered in reassurance. _"A bit of a rough day with her feeling under the weather due to a sinus cold and an unexpected court appearance this morning."_

"Court appearance?" Derek asked sharply.

"_The Prosecution tried to have me removed as her lawyer. The judge denied the motion much to the ADA's annoyance,"_ Hotch said with a small smile.

"Bully for the judge," Dave said with an appreciative nod.

"_Prentiss' final words to him also helped a great deal."_ He glanced down at the corner of his screen. _"Since everyone knows what do to, I'm going to sign off. I need to plan my day for tomorrow and prepare a couple of subpoenas. Same time tomorrow?"_

"We'll be here," Dave told him.

After Hotch had signed off, JJ turned to the Senior Profiler, an uneasy look on her face. "What if the UnSub is from Emily's CIA and Interpol days like Doyle was? We have no way of checking since all her missions are classified."

"And none of us have a high enough clearance to access them," Reid added.

Dave gave a noncommittal shrug. "Then we'll have to find an unofficial way to declassify them."

* * *

><p>The next morning Emily was waiting for Hotch in one of the visitation rooms. He had called ahead to have her there so that he didn't have to sit around twiddling his thumbs while he waited for her to be brought to him. Not that he was thumb twiddler, he just chaffed at the unnecessary delays. Most of the guards seemed to take their own sweet time in delivering her.<p>

When he entered, Emily was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, staring gloomily out the barred window. Officer Cruz, again on duty, stood guard by the door. Under his own volition he had removed her handcuffs. Hotch nodded to the young man and he quietly slipped out of the room. Emily didn't seem to notice his presence so he cleared his throat loudly.

Emily looked over and sighed. "Lets get this over with," she grumbled and plopped into one of the chairs.

Hotch arched an eyebrow in amusement as he set his briefcase on the table. "Do you have somewhere more important to be?"

She glanced up at him and blew out a frustrated breath before leaning forward and resting her head in her hands. "Sorry about that, Hotch," she apologized. "I had a crappy night."

He sat down, immediately concerned. "Are you feeling worse? I did request a doctor to come and check you out."

"She did. Dr. Ryan diagnosed a sinus infection and started me on antibiotics. It's what happened later."

"What?

She straightened and transferred her attention to the ceiling. "Strauss paid me a little visit last night."

"She what?" He stared at her incredulously. "How did she get in to see you? She's definitely not on your authorized list of visitors."

Emily snorted in derision. "She probably flashed her credentials and Morrissey tripped all over himself to comply. I'm sure he enjoyed having the chance to demean me in front of her. They paraded me in with full restraints on."

Hotch wholeheartedly agreed. "What did she want?" he asked even though he was pretty sure what the answer was going to be.

She dropped her eyes to him. "What do you think? She wanted me to take the fucking plea deal. She said I needed to take responsibility for my actions and let the team move on."

Suddenly Emily became very interested in her hands. _There was something she doesn't want to tell me,_ he thought. _Was she actually reconsidering taking the deal?_ Hotch quickly dismissed the notion. _It must have something to do with me._

"What else did she say?"

"Strauss said I was wrecking your career by letting you defend me." She wouldn't look him in the eyes. "If that is true, I'll have Mother get me another lawyer," she said softly.

He smiled gently. Here was Emily thinking about his welfare over the dire predicament she was ensnared in. He leaned forward and rested his folded hands on the tabletop.

"I need you to look at me." He waited for her eyes to meet his. "I don't give a damn what your case may or may not do to my career. I'm here because you are a close friend and you are in trouble. Got it?"

"Got it," she said with a nod.

Now he was more curious to how she had answered Strauss. Had Emily been semi-polite or had she used choice words that weren't suitable to be used in public? "What was your answer to her suggestion?"

The corner of her mouth curled into a smile. "I gave her an emphatic no then I threatened to sue her ass and the FBI in the public eye if she tried to fire me before any of this is over."

"Did she believe you?"

Her smile grew wider. "Oh she got the picture all right."

His smile joined hers. "Good for you. So do you want to hear how my evening went?"

Emily shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice since I'm a captive audience do I?"

Hotch didn't take offense because he could hear the humor behind her words. "I have some good news and some bad. The bad news is when I went to your hotel room the sinus medication was gone. It seems the UnSub took it with him."

"Just wonderful," she said sarcastically with the roll of her eyes.

"The good news is that I found the receipt among your personal property here at the jail. Garcia is digging through the drug store and credit card systems to verify that there is still records of the purchase."

Emily perked up a little at the news, but not enough to pull her out of her funk. He knew she was frustrated with being locked up and unable to actively participate in solving her own case. All new leads and information that were uncovered she was hearing second hand.

"The team and I were also able to discover through some hacking that your hotel room was accessed twice on Saturday and Sunday. One was the maid service and the other was the UnSub."

Emily bit her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Then he should have been captured on camera entering my room."

Hotch shook his head. "That's what we thought too. Unfortunately the system was down at those particular times."

"Damn it!" she swore and slapped the table with a frustrated hand before getting up and starting to pace.

"I feel the same way," he said in sympathy.

She stopped at the window and gazed out through the bars. "Was Garcia able to make any headway with the video of me leaving the hotel?"

"Not yet. Since she doesn't have access to her FBI computers, she has to create her own program to do the analysis."

Emily glanced sharply at him. "Why not?"

"Strauss told them that your case was off limits. So they set up camp at your row house to circumvent her orders," he informed her.

"Figures," she grumbled and turned back to the window.

"I hope you don't mind they using your house?"

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "Just make sure Garcia doesn't spoil Serge and Mutt. I don't want to come home to a fat cat and dog."

"I will," he promised.

She nodded her thanks and a silence fell over the room. Neither made a move to break it immediately. Hotch sorted through his briefcase, pulling out the copy of the case file he had made for her and the books he had retrieved from her hotel room while Emily continued her window watching. Several minutes passed before she spoke up.

"So what is on your agenda for today?" she asked.

Hotch leaned back in his chair. "I'm trying to arrange a meeting with the witness who swears you bought the murder weapon from, but he's proving to be difficult to pin down. In the meantime I plan to visit the crime scene."

"I wish I could go with you," she said wistfully.

A thought occurred to him. "Maybe you can."

Emily turned to him, her forehead puckered in confusion. "Hotch, I highly doubt the cops are going to issue me a 'get out of jail for one day' pass."

A glint came to Hotch's eyes that she had never seen before. If pressed she would have sworn it was sneaky.

"Maybe not for the whole day," he said cryptically.

* * *

><p>"Absolutely not!" Morrissey shouted.<p>

The Chief of Police frowned at him. "Detective, lower your voice."

He took a deep breath and said in a more civil tone. "It's a ploy to help the prisoner escape."

Hotch refrained from rolling his eyes at the Detective's stupidity. "I'm here to prove Agent Prentiss' innocence, not compound the perceived guilt by helping her flee your jurisdiction."

"Still—"

He tuned out Morrissey and turned to the one person who had the power to make the decision. "All I am asking for is permission to take Agent Prentiss to the crime scene with me. I just want to get her perspective on it."

"Is that all?" the Police Chief asked skeptically.

"Yes, Sir," Hotch said with a nod. "I would fully expect you to follow the protocols set for escorting a prisoner to an unsecured area." Just like Derek, calling Emily a prisoner left a sour taste in his mouth.

The Police Chief drummed his fingers on the desk blotter as he considered the request. "I don't see a problem with that," he decided at last. "She'll—"

"Sir!" Morissey protested.

The Chief scowled at him for interrupting. The detective stared at his shoes like a scolded child. "She'll be in full restraints," he continued. "Handcuffs and leg irons. And she'll be accompanied by two officers."

"Of course," Hotch agreed.

"Those security steps should be suitable." He shot Hotch a silent warning that if he heard one whisper of an escape attempt, his head would roll. "The prisoner will be there in two hours."

"Thank you."

Still ignoring Morrissey, Hotch turned sharply on his heels and exited the office. The detective soon followed, shooting daggers at the agent's back. The Police Chief sighed and leaned back in his chair. He had his doubts to Agent Prentiss' guilt. She had seemed a very capable agent when she was helping to identify the serial killer. But people can fool you and that was why he relied on evidence. The case Morrissey had built against the agent seemed solid. Morrissey was a good detective even though he was an asshole most of the time.

* * *

><p><em>Who would have thunk it that Hotch could be sneaky? Do check in next week to see how much trouble our dynamic duo can get into at the crime scene. Until then.<em>


	10. Chapter 10

_Hello everyone. Welcome back. So glad you enjoyed last week chapter. The response I've been getting to this is awesome. You all rock! Now for a little change in pace, lets go see how things are hanging at the BAU. Enjoy._

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><p>Rebecca Hale stood just outside the glass doors of the Behavioral Analysis Unit gazing upon the bullpen and the people swarming about. In her sweaty hands she held a cardboard box that contained all of her worldly possessions from her previous posting. She still couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that she was finally here. That she was at Quantico and was about to start her dream job. And what made it even more special was that she was joining the elite team of the unit, personally led by the Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and the legendary David Rossi. How perfect was that?<p>

She had waited a long time for this to happen, for a position to open up. While her considerable talents were being wasted in a small field office in California, she had taken and passed with what she thought were excellent marks all the profiling courses. Now she had all the proper accreditations but nowhere to go. So when Section Chief Strauss had personally called to let her know a spot had opened up, Rebecca had jumped at the opportunity. She had disposed of everything she had owned and had hopped on the first plane to Washington DC.

Rebecca was so nervous she couldn't get her feet to move. It was like she was rooted to the floor. Then a young, nice looking agent exited the BAU. He held the door open for her.

"Are you going in?" Anderson asked politely.

"Uh…yes…thank you," she stammered and stepped through the opening.

"You're welcome," he said with a smile.

Once she was in the BAU, Rebecca took a moment to orient herself. To her immediate right was the break area and the short flight of stairs that led to the infamous round table room where they made the life and death decisions. To her far left were the offices of her new Unit Chief and Rossi. Hotchner's was dark because, if she remembered correctly, he had taken a leave of absence for something. She was disappointed that she wouldn't meet him today.

_Now where is my desk_, she mused as she looked over the bullpen. _Oh, yes. There it is. Chief Strauss had said it was in the first row facing Agent Hotchner's office._

Tightening her grip on the box, she hurried over and was disappointed when she got there that nobody had bothered to clear away the previous agent's junk. With a snort of annoyance at the inconvenience, Rebecca set her box on the floor and eyed the organized clutter covering the desktop.

"Guess I have to do it myself," she muttered as she pulled out the chair and sat down.

Rebecca grabbed the trashcan out from under the desk and looked over the surface of the desk again. The first thing she snatched up was the nameplate for an Emily Prentiss and tossed in the trash without glancing at it. She did take more time to examine the picture of the dark haired agent with a little boy at the zoo. It was really a shame that she had ruined her life and that of her son's by murdering a man. The framed picture followed the nameplate into the garbage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" an irate voice demanded, snatching the trashcan from her hands.

She turned to find a brightly garbed blonde woman glaring daggers at her through matching eyeglasses. Instantly recognizing her, Rebecca got to her feet and held out her hand.

"You must be Penelope Garcia. I'm—"

"I don't care who you are. I just want to know what the hell you are doing at Emily's desk?" Penelope asked sharply, ignoring the proffered hand.

Rebecca blinked at the tone. "Uh…it isn't her desk anymore. I'm taking her place on the team."

"That's what you think. Excuse me," she said stiffly and with the trashcan clutched to her chest, she marched up the stairs into Rossi's office without knocking.

"I don't see what the big deal is," she said to the analyst's back. "Isn't this Emily person in prison for killing some guy?"

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><p>Dave was just walking around his desk when Penelope barged in and stopped in front of him, bringing him up short. He arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Garcia, why are you carrying a trashcan around?"<p>

"It's Emily's."

He stared at her for a second. "Okay. I'll bite. Why are you carrying Prentiss' trashcan?"

"Because that bimbo was trying to throw out Emily's stuff," she declared angrily. And to prove her point, she retrieved the nameplate and picture frame from within.

Now Dave was totally confused. "What bimbo?"

Penelope jerked her head at the door. "The bimbo sitting at Emily's desk who is saying she's the newest member of the team."

"Is that so?" Dave asked rhetorically. He looked out his office window at the dirty blonde woman standing next to Emily's desk with a perplexed look on her face. "Does she have a name?"

"I didn't let her get that far. I was too pissed off at what she was doing," she explained. "Still am."

Dave nodded in understanding. "Shall we go have a little heart to heart with Agent Bimbo and cure her of her misconceptions?" he asked with a wicked smile.

"Oh. Yes. Lets," the analyst agreed with an even nastier grin.

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><p>Dave exited his office with Penelope hot on his heels. He had barely gotten down the steps before Rebecca Hale rushed over, grabbed his hand and started pumping it furiously.<p>

"Agent Rossi, it's such an honor to finally meet you," she gushed, prompting Penelope to roll her eyes in disgust. "I'm so looking forward to working with you. I know I'm going to learn so much from you. I've read all your books, several times actually and—"

"And you are?" he interrupted with a bored tone, freeing his hand from hers.

She blinked in surprise then slapped on a smile. "Uh…Rebecca Hale. I just transferred to your team. I was just setting up my desk when—"

"How odd," Dave said with a deep frown.

"Um…what's odd?" she asked in confusion.

"That I didn't approve any transfers and I know for a fact that Agent Hotchner hasn't. Especially since there isn't a position available on the team."

Hale gestured helplessly at Emily's desk. "But I was told the previous agent, Emily something, was going to prison for murder."

"You've been misinformed," Dave said gravely.

"Wha…what?" she stammered, getting a sinking feeling in her stomach. Penelope smirked at her discomfort.

"Agent Emily _Prentiss_ is still a vital member of this team," he informed her.

Rebecca was getting more confused by the minute. This wasn't the way her first day at the BAU was supposed to go. The way she had pictured it was that she would meet her new teammates then jump into a case and show them how good she was. Now it was looking like it wasn't going to happen. She had to do something so she played her trump card.

"But Section Chief Strauss personally—"

Dave's eyes narrowed. The bimbo had just confirmed his suspicions. Strauss was up to her old tricks. "Do you have the transfer orders?"

"Umm…yes. In my box," she said and hurried back to the desk. Dave and Penelope followed her. Rebecca tore the lid off the box and yanked out the papers. "Here. They show I belong here."

Taking the orders, Dave pretended to study them. "Now lets not get ahead of ourselves. I'll have to check this out first. So, for now, you may remain."

Penelope's eyes nearly popped out of her head. She had thought Dave was going to kick the bleached blonde bimbo to the curb. Instead he invited her to stay and be a member of the team. She opened her mouth to protest.

"But not at this desk," he continued. "You can use that one." Dave pointed to a small table set up behind the open shelving that was used to store files. Back there she would be out of sight and mind. Penelope's shut her mouth and grinned.

Rebecca looked to where he was pointing and blinked in disbelief. That desk was nowhere as nice as this one. It looked like a basic table with a folding chair. "Agent Rossi—"

"If you don't like the arrangement, Agent, you can keep walking and go back to where ever you came from. Hopefully you haven't gotten rid of your apartment so that you will have some place to return to. It would be a bummer if you had."

She gulped. She had dumped everything to come here. Dave picked up the cardboard box and shoved it into her unresisting hands. In a state of shock, Rebecca turned around and wordlessly walked to her new desk.

Dave gave Penelope a meaningful look. "Now we can't have her sitting around twiddling her thumbs, so why don't you find the thickest and driest manual for her to read. And make sure you tell her that she has to finish it today. Regulations, you know."

"Yes, Sir," Penelope said with a wide grin.

"Meanwhile, I'm off to have a little chat with our Section Chief."

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><p>As Dave breezed through the outer office, he nodded politely to Strauss' secretary Ann. Before she had a chance to hop to her feet and inform him that the Section Chief was unavailable, he had passed into the inner sanctum. He settled into one of the chairs, casually rested an ankle on his knee and folded his hands in his lap. He gazed at the blonde woman with a bored look.<p>

Erin Strauss looked up from the report she was reading and frowned in annoyance at the intrusion. "Haven't you heard of knocking, Agent Rossi?"

"What's knocking between two friends?" he asked drolly.

Her annoyance deepened. "What is it that you want?" she demanded in irritation.

Dave shook his head slowly. "I see you're up to your old tricks, Erin. I thought you would have learned your lesson by now."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Dave tossed the transfer order he had brought along on her desk. "Rebecca Hale, your latest mole and ass kisser. I'm sure this one is quite willing to jump through all the hoops you want her to. Unlike Prentiss who refused to do your bidding."

Strauss picked up the transfer and pretended to read it. "I transferred Hale in because your team needs help. You are currently working down two people. And besides she shows a lot of promise," she explained, feigning innocence.

"Right," he scoffed. "If we need help, we can borrow an experienced profiler from one of the other teams. We don't need a wannabe profiler who is so full of herself and sees the BAU as a way to make her name."

"It's only temporary," she argued.

He arched an eyebrow. "Is it? Agent Bi…Hale," Dave caught himself at the last minute from saying bimbo. "Is under the impression that it is permanent."

"It will be permanent once Agent Prentiss is officially separated from the FBI after the outcome of her trial." Strauss narrowed her eyes. "In the meantime, you have six months to turn Agent Hale into an excellent profiler. That is all, Agent," she said and picked the report back up, effective dismissing him.

"No," he said decisively.

Strauss took off her reading glasses and glared at him. "No?" she echoed.

"You heard me, Erin. We don't need nor want Agent Hale. We'll be fine until Hotch and Prentiss return. You can use her elsewhere or send her back to whatever small field office you got her from. I don't care."

She rose to her feet and pressed the palms of her hands on the desk. "You don't have the right to order me around," she spat.

Dave ignored her and thoughtfully stroked his goatee. "Is the Director aware of the fact that one of his Section Chief's is not supporting one of her agents who is being framed? That she colluded with the lawyer representing said agent to convince her to accept a plea deal so that the Bureau can save face?"

"I don't care much for what you are implying!" she hissed through clenched teeth, her eyes blazing.

"Does he know you went and visited Agent Prentiss in jail, not to check on her but to get her to accept the deal?"

"How did you…" she cut off the rest of what she was going to say. She silently cursed. David Rossi had eyes and ears everywhere. "It's a good deal. The case against her is solid," she said in her defense.

"Right," he scoffed. "It's a good deal to serve thirty years in prison for committing no crime beside ticking you off? How does that sound fair?"

Strauss remained silent, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

"I don't think it is," Dave said, getting to his feet. "You know, Erin, holding a grudge for six years because Prentiss wouldn't do your dirty work is unhealthy. You really need to get over it." He turned to leave.

She stared daggers at his back, pissed that he had the gall to talk to her like that and annoyed at herself for not having the proper comeback.

Dave paused at the door. "I also heard there is the possibility that you might get yourself sued if Prentiss' employment is terminated prematurely. If that comes to pass you can be assured that I will be her number one witness."

"Are you threatening me, David?" she demanded.

He smirked. "Not at all. Just making a strong suggestion. Have a good day," he said and departed.

Strauss sagged heavily into her chair and ran a frustrated hand through her hair. That was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that she had been threatened and she didn't like it one bit. She knew that they weren't idle threats; Prentiss and Rossi had been deadly serious. Unconsciously her eyes drifted over to the low file cabinet along the wall and the secret it contained. _God! I really need a drink._

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><p>Emily closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. This was the only part of her forced incarceration she actually looked forward to. Because she was being held in protected custody, the police could keep her confined to her cell. But for one hour every day she was allowed out, besides her meetings with Hotch, to exercise andor take a shower. Her private exercise yard wasn't exactly a yard, but a glorified dog run surrounded by chain link fencing and razor wire. None of that really mattered to Emily though, she was just happy to be outside.

She sat leaning against the fence, head tilted back and arms resting limply on her drawn up knees. It was a bit chilly and she didn't have a coat, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that she was out in the fresh air and not breathing in the stale institutional air. Emily tuned out the din made by the other prisoners in their own yard and listened to the birds singing and insects chirping, allowing her to pretend she was somewhere peaceful and not it jail. The warmth of the afternoon sun soaked into her skin and melted away the tension in her muscles. If she could, Emily would spend the entire day like this.

"Agent Prentiss?"

Cruz's Hispanic lilt voice shattered her idyllic daydream. Emily groaned loudly at the interruption and opened her eyes. Squinting against the sunlight she spotted the young officer standing at the locked gate, a pair of handcuffs held ready.

She groaned again. "Please tell me that my hour isn't up yet. It feels like I just started it," she complained.

"It isn't," he told her as he unlocked the gate and stepped through. "It seems you're going on a short field trip."

Emily frowned in confusion. "A field trip?" she repeated.

"Uh huh," he said with a tiny smile and gestured her to stand.

She climbed to her feet, turned around and put her hands behind her back so that he could ratchet the handcuffs in place.

"Oh," she said in realization and smiled.

Now Emily knew what he had been referring to. Hotch had somehow managed to convince the cops to let him take her to the crime scene. She had no clue how he had accomplished it, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Emily would gladly tolerate being shackled hand and foot for several hours as long as it got her out from under the oppressive atmosphere of desolation that clung to the jail and its occupants.

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><p><em>Boy does Dave have Strauss' number. Next week is the field trip. Do come back for that. Until then.<em>


	11. Chapter 11

_It's field trip time! Enjoy._

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><p>Hotch watched the police cruiser pull up to the curb behind his rental in front of James Hill's rundown house. It was located in an equally rundown neighborhood. All the houses were in desperate need of painting, what lawns there were had more weeds than grass in them and the residents were afraid to stay outside for long. Fear kept them inside peeking out through their drawn curtains like several were doing right now. If he tried to approach any of the neighbors, they wouldn't answer the door or say that they hadn't seen or heard a thing.<p>

Cruz and another officer Hotch didn't recognize, helped Emily out of the back of the police cruiser and escorted her up the cracked and weed infested walk. They had draped a navy blue police windbreaker over her shoulders to disguise the fact that she was handcuffed. But the leg irons and the wide stripes of blue and white pants that no one in their right mind would wear in public, gave it away that Emily was one of the prisoners from the jail.

Hotch unlocked the front door with the key the police had provided and then stepped aside to allow Emily and her escorts precede him in.

"You can unlock the cuffs," he said once they were all gathered in the entryway.

"I can do the handcuffs, but not the leg irons and the chain," Cruz cautioned as he pulled out his keys.

"Understood," Hotch said as Emily held her hands out as far as the restraints would allow to give the young officer easier access to the locks. She nodded her thanks when her hands were free.

"Gentlemen, I need you to leave," he continued.

The other officer by the name of Simmons protested. "Sir, we can't do that. Our orders are to guard the prisoner and make sure she doesn't try to escape. I'm already uncomfortable with letting her out of her handcuffs."

"I understand but what we are about to discuss is privilege information so you can't be present. You can stand guard outside the front and back doors. You have my word and that of Agent Prentiss that no escape attempt will be made."

"I swear," Emily said solemnly, rubbing her wrists.

Simmons looked to Cruz for help. "Sounds good to me," Cruz said with a shrug. "I'll take the front and you can watch the back."

The other cop looked like he was going to continue arguing, but gave up and headed off to find the back door.

Cruz paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Don't make a liar out of me."

"I won't," she promised. "You're one of the few cops on the force that doesn't treat me like dirt. I appreciate it. It makes my forced stay a little easier to bear."

He gave her a small smile before stepping out and closing the door behind him. Through the dirty glass that lined both sides of the door, they watched him take an alert stance with his hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.

"Making friends I see," Hotch said dryly.

"One is better than none," she said with a shrug.

"Very true."

Emily shivered. "Man it's freezing in here," she observed and slipped her arms into the sleeves of the windbreaker. She was still cold because of the thin material, but it was better than standing around in the short sleeve scrub top.

Hotch squinted at the thermostat. "No wonder it's freezing. The air conditioning is cranked as high as it will go." He donned and evidence glove out of habit and turned it down. "Hill must have been one of those people who are too hot year round."

She grunted in agreement and jammed her hands into the jacket's pockets. "So what do you want to look at first?"

"I want to examine the front and back doors for tampering. One of the charges against you is for breaking and entering."

"I could've illegally entered through one of the windows," Emily pointed out.

"Good. Now you're thinking like a criminal instead of just looking like one. We'll check those too."

Emily arched an eyebrow. "Was that an attempt at humor?"

"It was."

"It didn't work," she said blandly.

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile as he reopened the door. Cruz spun around, hand on the butt of his weapon with a suspicious look on his face.

"Just examining the door," Hotch explained.

He nodded and looked over the Unit Chief's shoulder to verify Emily's whereabouts. He was relieved to see that she was exactly where he had left her and nowhere near the door. Hotch quickly checked out the lock and doorjamb then closed it.

"Well?" she asked when he returned to her side.

Hotch shrugged. "The lock had definitely been jimmied at some point in time but none of the scratches appear to be fresh."

"I wouldn't have left any marks."

One eyebrow rose in surprise. "You know how to pick a lock?"

"Among other things," Emily said with a tight smile, jangling one of the cuffs dangling from her waist.

She turned away and bit her lip. "Hotch, if the prosecution learns of my CIA training and Doyle, my ass will be cooked. They'll argue that the training gave me all the necessary knowledge to pull off a near perfect murder. The jury will eat it up."

"They won't," he assured her.

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, worried.

"Everything regarding Doyle, your CIA and Interpol days are classified. No one without top security clearance can access them. The Director and I made sure of that. Only he, the team and I know about your past."

"And Strauss," Emily pointed out softly.

Hotch scowled. "Strauss has her eyes set on the Director's office. She's not going to jeopardized that by leaking classified information."

His reasoning sounded logical, but it did little to quell her now queasy stomach. _Oh please_, she slightly prayed. _Don't let that be an indicator I'm getting another ulcer. It took forever to heal the last one. _

He could see her discomfort and quickly changed the subject. "Okay. If you were going to break in, how would you go about it?"

"I'd enter through the back," Emily said immediately without a thought. "I noticed when they were bringing me in that the front was too open to the street. There was nowhere to hide."

"The backyard would give you more privacy." She nodded. "Would you try going through a window?"

Emily gave a slight shake of her head. "Only if I found one unlocked. Breaking in through a window is messy. There is a lot of broken glass that you could easily cut yourself and leave trace evidence."

"And noisy," Hotch said. "The houses are close together so the neighbors would have heard. Though I doubt in this neighborhood anyone would admit they had."

"Right," she said glumly. "See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil."

"And they probably didn't hear the gunshots."

"Or the UnSub used a silencer," Emily pointed out.

Hotch flipped through the file he had brought along. "No silencer was found in any of the dumpsters that had been searched."

She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "That's something else I wouldn't do. I would have dumped the murder weapon in the Taunton River or Mount Hope Bay. I did that to the gun I had in Paris. I disassembled it and dropped the parts into the Seine."

He didn't let his surprise show. Since her return Emily hasn't spoken of her time in Paris. She still refused to listen to his reasoning for sending her into exile. Not that she would confide in him about anything personal. Yes, they were friends, close friends he thought, but he was still her boss.

"The UnSub wanted the gun found so that it could be traced back to you via the man who claims you bought it from him."

"It had to be a damn cheap gun," she said with a snort. "I don't carry that much cash on me and I hardly doubt he's a credit card type of guy."

Hotch nodded. "I'll have Garcia check your accounts for any unauthorized cash withdrawals. Now lets go check the back door."

Together they made their way down the short hallway that ran parallel to the stairs and into the kitchen. Emily remained standing in the archway, keeping her distance from the back door so that the other police officer wouldn't think she was trying to escape. Like Cruz, Simmons spun around at the sound of the door opening. His suspicious eyes latched onto Emily who gave him a small smile. Her little sign of friendliness only made him narrow his eyes further.

A quick inspection of the door and lock told Hotch all he needed to know. Neither had been tampered with. He explained that to Emily as he started opening and closing the kitchen cabinets.

Emily came further into the room and leaned against the table, absently picking at her fingernails. "So Hill had to have let his killer in…what the hell are you doing?" she asked in confusion.

Hotch found what he was looking for. He stepped back and started taking pictures with his phone. "Reid wanted me to take photos of Hill's glassware."

Her confusion deepened. "Why?"

"I don't know," he said with a half shrug as he continued snapping away. "All he said that he didn't want to draw any conclusions until he saw the photos."

It was Emily's turn to shrug. "Sounds like Reid being Reid."

As soon as he was done, the two agents adjourned to the living room where the crime had been committed. Hotch discretely matched his stride to Emily's slower shuffling walk, the leg irons forcing her to take small steps. They paused in the doorway to study the room; their eyes taking in the shattered coffee table and the large dark brown blood stain coating it and the carpet. Hotch held up the photo of Hill lying among the wreckage, his chest bright red in blood and his neck bent at an awkward angle as it rested against the side of the couch.

Emily tilted her head as she gazed at the photo. "He definitely wasn't caught sitting down."

"No," Hotch agreed. "He was standing in front of the coffee table."

She moved into the room and mimed holding a gun. "According to the reports there wasn't any GSR on Hill's shirt so the shooter had to be standing somewhere around here." Emily looked over her shoulder. "Directly in line with the front door."

Hotch took up the narration. "Judging from the amount of smashed glass Hill had a few beers. There is a knock at the door and he gets up to answer it. He lets the UnSub in and heads back to his drinking."

"I follow him in and wait patiently for him to turn around to ask what do I want. When he does, I plug him full of holes. Two to the chest and one to the shoulder."

Right," he agreed with a nod.

Emily frowned. "The one shot to the shoulder still bothers me. There was no need to shoot him there."

"To incapacitate him?"

"I guess," she said with a shrug. "Did the coroner happen to check the angle of the entrance wounds?"

Hotch consulted the file. "No, he didn't."

Emily sighed. "It would have been nice to know if Hill had been standing or flat on his back when the fatal shots hit."

"Agreed."

An oppressive silence descended on the room. Both knew there was nothing left to be said or examined at the crime scene. Emily's few hours of freedom was about to come to an end. She would be cuffed and returned to the jail and her sterile cell. There had to be a way to delay the inevitable.

"We haven't checked upstairs yet," he suggested. "Maybe Hill left a clue up there to who his real killer is that Morrissey and the crime scene techs might have missed."

"Sounds good to me," she said in obvious relief.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Emily realized she would have difficulty negotiating the steps in leg irons. "Uh…Hotch? I don't think I can manage it. Mind if I wait for you right here?"

Hotch looked at the steepness of the stairway and her shackles. "No problem," he said with a nod. "Just try to stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

"Believe me, I'm not budging from this spot."

He gave her another nod then ascended the stairs. Emily waited for him to round the corner before she sat down on one of the steps. Idly she reached down and adjusted one of the cuffs that were chafing her ankle as she gazed back into the living room. They had found nothing that would help clear her of any wrongdoing. In the eyes of the law she was still guilty as hell. Because Emily was law enforcement, she was considered guilty until proven innocent and not the other way around.

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><p>Hotch really didn't know why he was upstairs. They had learned all that they could from the crime scene, which unfortunately didn't add up to much. And he seriously doubted would find anything up here. All he was actually doing was buying Emily more time. With a sigh he opened the first door that he came to. It was the hall closet that held a bundle of twenty-four rolls of toilet paper and nothing else. The next door opened into a cramp bathroom with a medicine cabinet that held nothing of interest except for three different bottles of cologne and an unopened box of condoms.<p>

_Not getting much were you_, he thought wryly as the third door revealed an empty bedroom. Hotch hit the jackpot with the fourth door, leading to Hill's bedroom. There wasn't much there: a double size mattress with stained sheets, a dresser that wasn't being used to hold clothes, but to hold up the old TV. Said clothes were dumped on the floor in messy piles that were scattered around the room. Hotch had no clue how the man had known which ones were clean and which ones were dirty.

He stood in the middle of the room and looked around. As messy as it was, Hotch could still tell that the crime scene techs hadn't come up here. And why would they? The murder had taken place downstairs. A thought occurred to him. The team had profiled Hill to be a typical stalker and they all liked taking pictures of their intended victims.

"Where would I hide them?" he wondered aloud.

Hotch settled on the closet as being the most likely choice since Hill had proven not to be the brightest bulb in the pack. As he moved in that direction, a floorboard under his foot groaned loudly. He paused and bent down to take a closer look.

"Could it be this simple?" he marveled as he pulled out his pocketknife and jammed the blade under the edge. The board easily popped out. "Yes it can."

Inside the small space was a fat manila envelope. He pulled it out and found it crammed full of photos. He quickly flipped through them. They were all of young beautiful women that had been taken from quite a distance. He immediately noticed that there weren't any of Emily so that meant he hadn't been stalking her. If the prosecutor tried to float the idea that Emily had offed him because she got fed up with him following her, he could easily shoot it down. For one, there weren't any photographs of her. And two. Emily wasn't his type; he preferred blondes.

Suddenly there came the sound of a ruckus directly beneath him. "Shit! Emily!" he swore.

Hotch leapt to his feet and raced for the stairs, stuffing the envelope into the pocket of his suit jacket as he went. He thundered down the steps and skidded to a halt at the bottom, scowling at the scene in front of him.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

Emily was kneeling on the floor with her hands on her head. Morrissey was standing in front of her with is gun aimed at her, a pissed yet triumphant look on his face. The other two cops also had their weapons drawn but appeared to be confused and uncomfortable.

Emily glanced over her shoulder. "This idiot," she managed to point a finger at Morrissey without moving her hands off her head, "barged in through the front door. He took one look at me and yelled that I was trying to escape. Then he waved his gun in my face and ordered me to assume the position."

"You were going for the door," he growled through clenched teeth.

She turned back to him and smiled sweetly. "Now how could I possibly do that from my seat on the stairs where I was minding my own business?"

"Sir," Cruz tentatively spoke up. "I saw her on the steps just before you entered. She wasn't anywhere near the door."

"Shut up both of you!" He roared then rounded on the hapless Simmons. "And why the hell aren't her hands cuffed? You know dangerous prisoners are to be kept in full restraints at all times."

"Am I that much of a threat to you, Teddy?" Emily asked with a smirk.

Hotch didn't ask her to quiet down. He was rather enjoying the show. Emily seemed to know what buttons to push to get a rise out of him. The detective was already turning a lovely shade of red.

"I'm the one who had requested the handcuffs removed," he replied in a cold voice.

"Oh? Now you're taking orders from the Fed's?" Morrissey sneered at Simmons.

"No…no, Sir," the young officer stammered.

"Then why did you?"

Officer Cruz stepped into the fray. "I'm the one who did it and I didn't see the harm in it. Agent Prentiss has been a model prisoner. She hasn't given me any trouble."

Morrissey rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "My god! She's got you wrapped around her little finger. What's next? You going to start serving her meals on fine china?"

Cruz bristled at the insult, but wisely held his tongue.

The detective turned his scorn back to Emily. "Get to your feet, but keep your hands on your head."

Emily locked her cold eyes on him and took her time getting off her knees just to annoy the hell out of him. And it worked beautifully. The detective was shifting from foot to foot in irritation by the time she was standing.

"Now slowly lower your hands to your waist," he ordered.

She did as she was told, but not before asking sweetly, "Would you like me to cuff myself while I'm at it?"

Morrissey's face turned a deeper shade of red. "Cruz!" he barked. "Cuff her and make sure they're damn good and tight. Can't have her slipping free."

Cruz stepped up and secured her hands back to her waist. "Sorry," he apologized in a low voice that only she could hear as he ratcheted the cuffs tighter than he normally did. Emily nodded once to show him that she had heard and understood.

When he was done, the detective holstered his gun and double-checked the handcuffs, tightening them even more. Emily had to fight to keep the grimace of pain off her face as the metal cut into her wrists. Then he shoved her at the two surprised cops.

"Get her the hell out of my sight and back in her cell where she belongs."

The two officers caught her before she stumbled to her knees. They each took an arm and guided her to the open door.

Emily looked back over her shoulder. "It's been fun as always, Teddy. Lets do it again soon," she taunted. Morrissey glared at her.

To Hotch she said with a smile, "Thanks for the mini vacation, Hotch. I needed it."

"You're welcome, Prentiss. I'll see you back at the jail."

"I'll be there," she said and let the officers lead her back to the cruiser.

Morrissey turned and sneered at the Unit Chief. "You better get yourself a lawyer, Agent Hotchner. I plan on charging you as an accomplice to the prisoner's escape attempt by the end of the day."

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><p><em>Oh no! Will Hotch soon be joining Emily in jail? And will he look just as good in stripes as she does? Check in next week to get the all important answers to those questions. Until then.<em>


	12. Chapter 12

_Hi everyone. I just want to give everyone a big thank you. This story has already hit the 100 review mark and it is so awesome. I love the support I'm getting for this one. Again thank you so much. Now lets go see if Hotch exchanges his suit for stripes. Enjoy._

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><p>It didn't take long for the Chief of Police to get wind of what had gone down at the crime scene. Within an hour everyone involved, except for Emily who had been returned to her cell, had gathered in his office. He leaned back in his chair; arms crossed in annoyance and eyed the four men standing in front of his desk. The two young officers fidgeted under his intense gaze, Morrissey looked like he was ready to burst, and Hotch's countenance was bland and unreadable.<p>

Finally he sighed and focused his attention on the Unit Chief. "Agent Hotchner," he began.

"Sir," Morrissey interrupted. "I want to bring charges again—"

The Chief glared at him. "Detective, is your name Agent Hotchner?"

"Uh…no, Sir."

"Then shut up." Morrissey clamped his mouth shut. The Chief turned back to Hotch. "Agent Hotchner," he began again. "I granted you a lot of leeway to take your client back to the crime scene because the fine work of your team was instrumental in identifying and stopping John Guthrie before he killed any more women. But I'm disappointed that you abused my generosity by letting her to attempt to escape."

"I did no such thing," Hotch said in a calm voice. "Yes, I requested that the handcuffs be removed and Officer Cruz was nice enough to comply. But the leg irons were still locked in place and your officers were guarding both exits. Agent Prentiss wasn't going anywhere nor did she want to."

"Morrissey said that she was."

Hotch's eyes briefly flickered over to the still pissed looking Morrissey. "The detective was mistaken. Agent Prentiss said she was sitting on the stairs waiting for me to come back down from upstairs. And I know for a fact that she wouldn't lie about it."

"Of course you would say that," Morrissey muttered darkly, earning glares from the Police Chief and Hotch.

"Is it my understanding that you didn't witness the event?" the Chief asked.

"That is correct," Hotch said with a nod. "When I returned downstairs, Agent Prentiss was on her knees with her hands on her head and the detective had his weapon drawn. But Officer Cruz did say he saw her on the stairs and not near the door."

The Police Chief turned to the young officer who immediately stood straighter and stiffer. "Cruz, is that true?"

"Yes, Sir. I had just looked through the window shortly before Detective Morrissey entered. The prisoner was sitting on one of the bottom steps gazing into the living room, scratching at her ankle."

"Probably trying to get the leg iron off so that she could run," Morrissey chimed in.

Hotch couldn't resist tossing in a taunt. "And how exactly was Agent Prentiss going to accomplish that, detective? Use her fingernail as a lock pick?"

Morrissey reddened and the two officers struggled to keep the grins off their faces. Neither were particularly found of him, they were a little tired of his constant bragging of how good a detective he was.

The Police Chief could see there was no love lost between the agent and his detective. He looked carefully at each man before leaning forward in his chair to rest his folded hands on his desk.

"This seems to me to be a big misunderstanding," he decided. "And it doesn't go any further than this room." He took a deep breath. "Agent Hotchner, I'm afraid I won't be able to extend to you anymore leeway. From this point on, your client will remain in our custody here at the jail. No more little field trips."

"Understandable," Hotch agreed. "But I do want to thank you for letting me take Agent Prentiss off premises. It proved to be very beneficial."

Morrissey's eyes narrowed at that, prompting him to wonder if he had missed something. He shook his head in denial. No, his case against the smart-ass agent was rock solid. He had her blood and fingerprints at the scene. There was gunshot residue on her blouse. He had an eyewitness that had positively identified her buying a gun from him. The description of the gun matched the one found in pieces in multiple dumpsters. The three slugs pulled from the victim could also be traced back to the gun. And there was the video of her leaving the hotel on the night of the murder.

But the most important piece by far was the motive. James Hill had been stalking her relentlessly after their first encounter at the police station. Whether it was because he was in love with her or pissed that she had rejected him, didn't matter a damn to him. The bitch knew there was really no legal way to stop him. She knew that restraining orders weren't worth the paper they were printed on. So she had made the fatal mistake of taking the law into her own hands and had blown him away. That allowed Morrissey to nail her ass to the wall and make him one step closer to landing a plum detective job with the Boston PD.

"Morrissey!"

The Police Chief's annoyed voice snapped him out of his musing. He blinked and turned to his boss. "Yes, Sir?"

"I said that was all. Now get the hell out of my office," he ordered.

The detective saw that he was the only one left in the room. The two officers and Hotch had departed while he had been picturing himself grinning in triumph when the verdict of guilty came down and watching Agent Prentiss cry when she realized she was going away for life and would die behind bars.

"Yes, Sir," he said and quickly beat a hasty retreat.

* * *

><p>Hotch was waiting for Morrissey out in the hallway. "Detective, a word if I may?"<p>

Morrissey briefly considered ignoring the request but changed his mind, deciding to see if he could knock the arrogant agent down a few pages. He sauntered back. "Looks like you're not so special anymore with the Chief, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," he sneered.

"Neither are you, Detective Theodore Morrissey," Hotch replied. "At least I didn't embarrass myself in front of my men."

The detective reddened. "What is it that you want, Fed? My time is too valuable to be wasted on trivial talk," he said in a peeved tone.

Hotch crossed his arms and causally leaned against the wall. "I'm curious to know why you showed up at the crime scene."

"What do you mean?"

"The Hill murder shouldn't be of any concern to you. You've made your case, as wrong as it is and have turned it over to the District Attorney. It's their case now. You're job is done," Hotch explained.

"I always follow my cases to the very end."

"Having a professional interest is fine, but yours seems to be personal. So, detective, is your grudge against the FBI in general or against females agents, namely Agent Prentiss in particular? I think she hit it on the head earlier when she asked if you felt threatened by her. Is it because she has a better job than you? And it's a job you covet but know you'll never attain?"

Morrissey glared daggers at Hotch. "My loathing of government agencies especially the FBI had nothing to do with this case. Your agent thought she was above the law and murdered James Hill. I intend to see her thrown in prison for the rest of her god damn life."

Hotch mentally sighed at the detective's stupidity and tunnel vision. "May I make a suggestion?" he offered instead.

"No you may not," Morrissey shot back with a snort.

"I will anyway." The Unit Chief pushed off the wall and stood toe to toe with the detective, secretly pleased he towered over the man by a good six inches. "Get your head out of your ass, Morrissey, and find the real killer before your career comes to a screeching halt. If this goes to trial I will destroy the case and you. There won't be one police force willing to take you on. You have my word on it."

Morrissey took a few steps back and flipped him the finger. "Screw you, Hotchner," he swore and stomped off.

Hotch shook his head. "You were warned. No one messes with a member of my team."

* * *

><p>Suit took a slow, long drag on his cigarette. Per his employer's orders, he was to keep a close tab on Agent Prentiss's unfortunate incarceration. He smiled at the word unfortunate. It had taken months of patient watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to frame her. When the idiot Morrissey had his men drag in every known stalker, he had used the confusion to slip inside the police station and observe. He had witnessed her reaction after the interview with Hill and he had his patsy. Then she had inadvertently helped him by running to the drugstore alone. After that, all the pieces easily fell into place.<p>

Now he was curious to know how things were going behind those brick walls. Slipping back inside the police station wasn't an option this time so he settled for the next best thing: the smoking area set up in the parking lot. It amazed him that no one had seemed to realize that if you wanted to know what was really happening in the jail, all you had to do was to listen to all the gossip being tossed around outside.

He had made sure that he had dressed appropriately so that he would blend in. He smoked cigarette after cigarette throughout the day. It wasn't until late afternoon that he finally hit pay dirt. Two women clerks settled at the other end of the picnic table he was currently seated at and began to gossip. The hot topic of the day for them was Detective Morrissey. Suit's uneasiness grew as they regaled each other with the detective's escapades at the crime scene and the Police Chief's office.

_This is not good,_ he thought darkly.

Suit waited until the two women went back inside before he snuffed out his cigarette and headed off down the street at a sedate pace. Once he was a safe distance from the police station, he pulled out his disposable phone.

"Sir, we have a slight problem," he said to his employer.

"_What is it?"_ he demanded. _"I thought you had it all wrapped up."_

"I do. But it's the detective that was in charge of Prentiss' case. It appears that he can't let go of it and keeps butting his nose in where it now doesn't belong. I'm afraid he might do something that could result in the charges against her being dismissed."

"_Then get rid of him. I don't want him to screw this up. I've waited a long time for this."_

Suit shook his head. "I don't think that would be a good idea. His sudden death would raise all sorts of red flags, especially ones her lawyer, Agent Hotchner, would notice. We don't want to bring on any unwanted attention."

Silence descended over the line though he could barely discern his employer's breathing. _"You're correct. It seem that we need to speed up the timetable. Eliminate her,"_ he decided.

"Sir?" Suit blinked in surprise.

"_It should be easy for you. Prisoners die in police custody all the time."_

* * *

><p>Promptly at six the team gathered around Emily's diningkitchen table to videoconference with Hotch. Scattered amongst the files and laptops were paper plates holding slices of the pizza Derek had picked up on the way. They knew it was going to be a long night, but they didn't feel comfortable raiding Emily's cupboards and refrigerator for food even though they knew she wouldn't mind. Penelope had only opened the fridge once to throw out any perishables that were in danger of spoiling since she was unsure of how long her friend was going to be stuck in jail.

Within minutes their Unit Chief's stony visage appeared on the screen. _"Lets quickly recap what we know for a fact so far," _he said, getting right down to business.

Reid rattled them off. "The UnSub broke into Emily's hotel room twice. Once to steal a sample of her blood and fingerprints and the blouse he must of known that she had been wearing the night before the murder. The second time was to return the blouse that was now covered with gunshot residue."

Hotch nodded. _"I checked with the cleaning staff and the maid on duty both days confirmed she only entered Prentiss' room once."_

"And I determined he used a proximity jammer to knock out the surveillance camera's when he needed to enter," Penelope added.

"Those are easy to get," Derek commented.

The Unit Chief consulted the list he had drawn up prior to the meeting. _"Garcia, any luck on your searches from last night?"_

"Actually quite a bit, Sir," she said with a tight smile. "I checked the drug store's entire computer system and I couldn't find a trace of Emily's purchase. But," she held up a finger to stop everyone from talking at once, "it does show up on her credit card."

"So our UnSub is computer savvy up to a point," Dave said with a thoughtful nod. "He has the ability to hack into a individual system, but not a nationwide one."

"He must have figured that the cops wouldn't look at her finances when they found no evidence of the purchase. They would have assumed Emily had lied about it as an attempt to cover her tracks," JJ observed.

"_Right,"_ Hotch agreed. _"And the hotel's surveillance video?"_

The entire room fell silent as five pairs of hopeful eyes turned to the blonde technical analyst. She looked at each and every face before breaking into a big grin. "Tampered with. The time stamps have been altered to make Friday seem like Saturday. Then he deleted all of Saturday's video so that no one would stumble on to the tampering."

Everyone breathed huge sighs of relief.

"So lets show this to the judge," Reid suggested. "It's reasonable doubt. He'll have to let Emily go."

Hotch shook his head slowly. _"I'm afraid I can't do that, Reid. I can't show a judge anything Garcia comes up with. He would assume that we manufactured evidence to get Prentiss off."_

"But we aren't," he protested.

"_I know. It's frustrating, but I have to get all of our results from legitimate outside sources."_

"Boss, I know a fellow hacker who would be perfect," Penelope offered. "He owns a high tech computer security company that specializes in this exact thing."

"_Is he good?"_

"The best," she said confidently.

Hotch didn't hesitate_. "Let him know what is coming. I'll send everything to him through the correct channels."_

"You got it." She typed a few things into the laptop. "His contact information is flying at you over the transom as we speak."

"_Thanks, Garcia."_

"No problemo."

"Hotch? Were you able to get those pictures I asked for?" Reid inquired.

"_I did. I'm sending them now."_

The young genius moved behind Penelope so that he could peer over her shoulder at the screen. She opened the file and he had her slowly scroll through them. With each photo his puzzlement deepened.

"What is it, Spence?" JJ prompted, leaning in to get a better look.

"The glass Emily's prints were found on don't match the glassware Hill had in his cabinets," he pointed out.

"So?" Derek said with a skeptical eyebrow. "A lot of people have mismatched glasses. They get broken all the time."

"I know that. It just seems so familiar to me."

"Maybe it reminds you of the one you use in your bathroom," Derek joked.

Reid shot straight up and snapped his fingers, the glare from the light bulb coming on in his head lighting up his eyes. "It's the glass from the hotel room," he happily declared.

Hotch disappeared from the computer screen then returned seconds later with the glass from the bathroom. He carefully compared it to the photo of the one found at the crime scene.

"_Reid is correct. They're identical,"_ he said finally. _"I'll talk to the maid again and find out if she noticed a glass was missing."_

Dave leaned back in his chair. "So now we know how her fingerprints ended up at the crime scene," he mused. "We're making progress."

Everyone in the room nodded in agreement. "Hotch, did you uncover anything else at the crime scene?" JJ asked.

The Unit Chief told them how he had managed to spring Emily from jail for a couple of hours. How they had walked through the crime and the conclusions they had drawn especially her concern about the shot to the shoulder. He told them about the photos he had found under the floorboard and ended with the Morrissey debacle.

"Unbelievable," Derek said in disbelief. "Morrissey is obsessed with Prentiss. He's bound and determined to make sure she goes to prison."

"_I warned him that he was becoming too involved,"_ Hotch said, _"and that he should be expending his energy finding the real killer."_

Dave smirked. "Bet that went over well."

"_It did," _Hotch said with a smirk of his own. _"He stomped off in a huff like a five year old."_

"At least we now know that Hill wasn't stalking Emily since she wasn't his type," JJ said. "That pokes a few holes in their motive theory."

"_It does,"_ Hotch agreed_. "As Dave said before, we're making progress. Every discrepancy we discover I can use at the prelim hearing in two weeks to prove that there isn't enough evidence to force Prentiss to stand trial."_

"So we keep digging," Dave added.

"_Yes. I want to hand the judge the UnSub's head on a silver platter,"_ Hotch said grimly.

* * *

><p>Emily sighed and stared in annoyance at the scarred table she was sitting in front of. For the second evening in a row she had been dragged down to the visitation rooms. Just like yesterday she was cuffed hand and foot. That meant she was being paraded out like a common criminal in front of someone who wasn't on her approved visitors list. Only one name came to mind that would warrant the cops to slap her back in full restraints. Strauss. And that made Emily wonder what she wanted now. Last night the Section Chief had pretty much indicated that she had washed her hands of her.<p>

The click of the turning knob drew her attention to the closed door. It slowly swung open and Emily's eyes widened in shock.

"Mother?"

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><p><em>Uh oh! A couple of surprises in this one. Hehehe. Do come back next week to see how they play out. Until then. <em>


	13. Chapter 13

_See? The week passed rather quickly and it is now posting day. Now lets go see how the visit between Emily and Elizabeth goes. Enjoy._

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><p>"Mother?" Emily said in disbelief, staring in shock at the older woman who had just stepped through the door.<p>

"Hello, Sweetheart," Elizabeth Prentiss said with a tender smile.

Emily shifted uncomfortably on the metal chair. Her mother was the last person she had expected to see, but then she really shouldn't be surprised. The Ambassador always did what she wanted regardless of what other people wanted.

"What are you doing here? Didn't Agent Hotchner tell you I wasn't receiving visitors?" she asked, wanting to verify that it wasn't an oversight on Hotch's part.

"He did."

Elizabeth used the time it took to cross from the door to the table to take a good look at her daughter. She took in the dark bags under the tired eyes, the thinness of her face, and the slump in her shoulders. And she sensed the air of despondency that hung over her head. Four days locked in a cell was wearing her down, slowly eating away at those protective barriers she was too good at erecting.

"So you chose to ignore it?" Emily made sure her face remained an emotionless mask.

"Absolutely when my daughter is in trouble," she said, sitting down in the empty chair and scooting it closer to the table.

"How did you manage to get in here? If you're not on the list the guards won't let you in."

Elizabeth said with a cagey smile. "The Chief of Police and I had a nice little chat."

Emily nodded and transferred her gaze to the barred window. In other words, her mother had run roughshod over the Police Chief, leaving him with no choice but to comply.

Elizabeth rested her folded hands on the table and leaned forward, her concern for her daughter's welfare clearly written across her face. "Sweetheart, how are you?

"I'm fine."

The Ambassador's eyes narrowed slightly. "I know what your fine means, Emily. I've heard enough of them over the years. Now why don't you tell me the truth?"

Her eyes slid back to her mother and shrugged. "As good as I can be given the situation."

"That's better," she said with a small smile. "And how are they treating you?'

Emily let her gaze drift up to the camera set in the corner. Odds were that this entire conversation was being recorded since it didn't fall under privilege. And she had no doubt Morrissey was at the other end hanging on her every word, hoping that she would let something slip that he could hang her on.

Another shrug. "Okay I guess. They're treating me the same way as the rest of the offenders." _Like crap_, she silently added.

Elizabeth nodded. "Now what can I do for you? I'm here to help in any way I can."

Emily pretended to think about it. She hadn't wanted her mother to visit in the first place. To have her witness the humiliation brought on by her false imprisonment. That was the reason why she had remained seated when Elizabeth had entered. She hadn't wanted her to see the shackles. Beneath the table her right leg jiggled in agitation causing the leg irons chain to make a soft rattling sound and her hands fought the handcuffs.

At the same time Elizabeth continued to study her daughter. She was fully aware of Emily's quirks and habits and right now many of them were in play. She was avoiding eye contact, was working hard to maintain a neutral expression and was subconsciously shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Emily probably didn't even realize her restlessness was making a rattling sound. That told Elizabeth that her daughter was hiding handcuffs and who knows what else under the table which, explained why she hadn't stood up. Emily didn't want her to see and desperately wanted to maintain her dignity.

"Nothing," Emily finally said. "You should be helping Agent Hotchner."

She's trying to shut me out, Elizabeth thought. Well that's not going to happen. "I'll be meeting with him later, but right now I'm here to help you."

Emily remained silent; once again letting her eyes stray to the barred window.

"Please, Tigger. Tell me how I can help you," Elizabeth beseeched.

The brunette's resolve softened a little when she heard the nickname from so long ago. She remembered her mother calling her Tigger when she was little, but the terms of endearment had gradually changed to Lee and Sweetheart as she got older. Emily sighed softly and truly looked at her mother for the first time.

"In order for me to get through this, I have to keep a tight rein on my emotions. I have to keep the unwanted ones locked away. Seeing you, seeing anyone from the team threatens that tentative control and it gives them a chance to escape their boxes." She paused to take a deep breath.

"All I would see is your worry and worse, your pity. And that would bring out the guilt for what I'm doing to all of you and the humiliation of seeing me reduced to this," she said and glanced down at the blue and white inmate scrubs and the hidden shackles.

When Emily spoke again, she had to struggle to keep her voice from cracking. "If I can't maintain that control, I'll be overwhelmed and be lost."

Emily's frank admission rattled Elizabeth to the center of her being, but she maintained her composure on the outside. She could clearly see the multitude of cracks in her protective barriers. Her little girl was scared and hurting so that meant she had to be strong for her. She had to be her mother.

"Do you remember how I came about to calling you Tigger?" Elizabeth abruptly asked in an attempt to distract her daughter from her dire situation.

Emily shook her head. "Tell me," she said softly, welcoming the distraction.

Elizabeth sat back in her chair smiling fondly. "You were three and your favorite book was a collection of Winnie-the-Pooh stories that your grandfather had given you. Your favorite story was 'Tigger Comes to the Forest'. You wanted it read to you every night and during the day you carried the book everywhere trying to get whomever you had managed to corner to read it to you."

She chuckled and Emily smiled along. "It got to the point that I could recite the entire story in my sleep so I started calling you Tigger. Then you asked Santa for a stuffed one. That would have been fine if you had wanted the Tigger from the television specials."

"It wasn't?" Emily asked, drawn into the story.

"No. You insisted that it had to be the Tigger from the illustrations. Unfortunately that version didn't exist as a stuffed animal. I had to have it specially made so that you wouldn't be disappointed on Christmas morning."

It was her daughter's turn to smile fondly. "I remember him. Tigger was my best friend. I could tell him anything because he was great at keeping secrets. And I took him everywhere. He was so well loved that I wore off his fur in several places."

"I wonder what happened to him?" Elizabeth mused.

"I still have him. He's packed away in a box in my attic," Emily admitted. "My god, I haven't thought about him for years."

Before the Ambassador had a chance to reply, the door behind Emily swung open and Officer Robinson marched in with a perpetual glower on her face.

"Time's up!" she announced rudely.

Emily's shoulder's tensed while Elizabeth frowned in disapproval. "It was to my understanding that there wasn't a time limit," she said in a flat voice.

Robinson wrapped a hand around Emily's upper arm. "Just because your kid comes from a privileged background doesn't mean she gets any special treatment. In here she's a nobody like the rest of her fellow convicts."

The guard jerked Emily out of the chair and to her feet. She turned her body away in a fruitless attempt to hide the restraints. Elizabeth's sharp eyes saw the handcuffs and the chain that encircled her waist then followed it down to the leg irons. She pretended not to see so that her daughter could save face.

Elizabeth slowly rose, ignoring the guard. "I promise to do everything within my powers to get this sorted out and you exonerated."

Emily looked over her shoulder as Robinson dragged her towards the open door. "Thank you."

"I love you, Lee," she called out.

Emily locked eyes with her mother. "I love you too." And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>Morrissey was casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a smug look on his face when Emily and her unfriendly escort rounded the corner. It wasn't really a big surprise to her, having a suspicion that he would pop up like a bad penny right after the visit to rub it in.<p>

He pushed off the wall and nodded at Officer Robinson. "I'll take the prisoner from here. Why don't you go take your break?"

Robinson glanced at him with a slightly puzzled look then shrugged. "Have at it. It's no skin off my nose." He outranked her so she wasn't going to argue.

She let go of Emily's arm and headed off in the opposite direction, leaving the two standing in the corridor. Morrissey smirked at her and she gazed back at him with uninterested eyes. He grabbed her upper arm in a viselike grip and gave it a hard yank, telling her to get moving. He set off down the corridor, purposely taking longer strides so that she would have to struggle to keep up because of the leg irons.

Emily decided to have a little fun with him while they walked back to her home away from home. "Don't you have anything better to do, Teddy," she said his name with distain, "than to hang around the jail? Shouldn't you be out and about hanging murder raps on other innocent people?"

The detective's ears redden and he tightened his grip on her arm as he quickened his pace. "Did you have a nice visit with mommy?" he taunted.

She affected an air of boredom. "You should know. You watched the whole thing."

He ignored her. "I did notice one oddity. She didn't ask if you had done it."

"That's because she knows I'm innocent of all charges. Unlike you."

"Or she knows you're guilty as hell," he retorted with a sneer. "Parents can always tell when their kids are lying to them. She just didn't want to acknowledge your guilt by asking."

_You don't know my mother,_ she thought as they waited for the security gate leading to the Special Housing Unit to slide open. _She's not afraid to speak her mind. If she had any doubts, she would express them. _The gate opened and they resumed walking down the short corridor to her cell.

"I've been thinking, Teddy, that you have an unhealthy interest in my case. It's almost like you are stalking me."

Emily paused to give his blood pressure a chance to rise. The detective didn't disappoint her. Within seconds his face turned red, matching his ears. She continued to push his buttons.

"Or better yet. You're the one who killed Hill. Many perpetrators of a crime like to insinuate themselves into the investigation. Like you."

Morrissey growled in annoyance and glanced up at the cameras monitoring the corridor. He held his temper until he had escorted Emily into the cell then he let go of her arm, grabbed her by the front of the scrub top and flung her into the wall. Emily grunted when the back of her head bounced painfully off its surface.

"I know what you and your boss are up to," he hissed. "Or is he more than that? Maybe I had it wrong and it's your boss and not your partner that you are fucking. No ordinary boss would through this much trouble for a lowly employee."

Again Emily didn't dignify it with an answer. She blinked several time in an attempt to stave off the headache building in the back of her head from the blow. At the same time she yanked at the cuffs trying to free her hands so that she could defend herself. It was obvious that she had managed to hit a raw nerve.

"And what exactly are we trying to do?" she asked in a cool and calm voice.

"You're trying to make it look like I'm incompetent so that your case will be thrown out on a technicality," he said, giving her a shake to emphasize his point.

"Oh no," she said with a wicked grin. "You're doing a very good job of it all on your very own."

Anger flared in Morrissey's eyes. He spun around, taking Emily with him and slammed her against the bars of her cell door with great force. Emily's breath left her in a loud whoosh and her lower back and shoulders burned with pain. Before she had a chance to react he had his forearm pressed to her throat, cutting off what little air in her lungs she had left.

"You need to watch your mouth, bitch!" he threatened.

Instinctively Emily tried to raise her hands to break his grip but they remained chained to her waist. Morrissey grinned when he felt her struggling beneath him and pressed down harder. He leaned in until they were nose to nose.

"Now listen up, Miss F…B…I. On the outside you might have been a high and mighty and holier-than-thou agent. But in here you are no one, you're nothing but a soon to be convicted felon. I have all the power over you. I can take away what few privileges you have. I can permanently leave you in restraints and lock you in the darkest of cells where you won't see the light of day until the day of your trial."

Emily locked eyes with him and once again the detective found himself staring into eyes that were black, cold and unreadable.

"Screw you!" she rasped through clenched teeth.

Morrissey's brow furled and again he growled. He released her just long enough to grab a fistful of her scrub top and physically tossed Emily to the floor. With her hands cuffed to her waist, Emily was unable to break her fall and landed hard on the shoulder that had taken a lot of abuse over the years. What breath she had recovered left with the impact.

"And if you think jail is bad, wait until you get to prison," he taunted as he towered over her prone form.

"Been there, done that," she grunted, still struggling to catch her breath.

He squatted down and grabbed her by the hair to force her to look at him. "I'll make sure you will be put in with the general population. And the knowledge that you're ex law enforcement will make you a target of every thug and pervert. You'll spend the rest of your miserable life as somebody's whore if you don't get shanked first."

Emily spat in his face.

Morrissey shot to his feet, grimly wiping the spittle off his check. "Bitch!" he swore and delivered a swift kick to her ribs, grinning in satisfaction when she curled into a tight ball.

_I finally got the best of you,_ he thought as he backed out of the cell. _Now you know whom the boss is. Me._

"Close C6," he bellowed down the short corridor.

He stood back and watched the cell door slide close. Once it slammed shut with a satisfying loud clank, he turned on his heels and marched down to the security gate with a bounce in his step. At the guard post he found Robinson back on duty. He knew she was unimpressed with Agent Prentiss. Time to flex more of his power.

"The prisoner tried to jump me," he lied. "No evening meal and leave her shackled until lights out."

"With pleasure, Sir," Robinson said with a grin.

* * *

><p>For several long minutes Emily laid on the floor alternating between coughing, gasping and wincing. Her side, lower back and shoulder felt like they were on fire and the back of her head throbbed in unison with her heartbeat. Eventually the pain subsided enough for her to uncurl from the fetal position and used her elbow to help push her into a seated position. Her body protested the move leaving her breathless. Once she could breathe again, Emily struggled to roll onto her knees. A move that was hampered by her inability to use her hands and the leg irons restricting the movement of her feet. But she did eventually get there.<p>

Emily gazed longingly at the bunk that looked a whole lot more comfortable than the floor. But she realized she didn't have the strength or the energy to climb to her feet. Instead she used what reserves she had left to shuffled on her knees to the closest wall and collapsed against in with a groan.

"God my entire body aches," she groused with a grimace.

Her ribs hurt more than the rest, but she knew they were merely bruised. She had suffered broken and cracked ribs before and definitely remembered what that had felt like and this was nowhere near that level. As a precaution Emily tried to check them but she couldn't get her cuffed hands over far enough to feel them. She sighed in frustration and leaned her head back gingerly against the wall and rolled it far enough to the side so that she could gaze out through the bars of her cell door.

She knew it was partially her fault, she had set out to intentionally rile him, but she hadn't expected his anger to explode. Normally he stormed off in a huff. And now Morrissey had her over a barrel. He had purposely chosen to assault her out of sight of the security cameras. If she tried to file a complaint of police brutality it would be ignored because there wasn't any video evidence. Yes she could show them the bruises that would be livid by morning, but it would be claimed that she had done it to herself. In the end it would boil down to her word against his and she would lose out to the blue wall. He was a police detective and she was an inmate with very few rights.

Emily felt one of the unwanted emotions break free of its box and she had an overwhelming urge to cry, to admit defeat. To stave it off she bit down hard on her lip until she drew blood and twisted her torso to irritate the ribs. The onrush of pain was enough of a distraction for her to lock the emotion back up where it belonged.

Once the pain had ebbed and she could breathe again, Emily swore, "This sucks."

* * *

><p><em>Now I've always thought Elizabeth was never a cold, aloof woman who despised everything Emily did. Yes, she did give Emily a difficult childhood because she tended to focus more on her career, but she was never uncaring. Their relationship may be strained, but deep down they still love each other as a mother and daughter should. See you next week. Until then. <em>


	14. Chapter 14

_And on with the show! Enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think._

* * *

><p>Hotch was just finishing his breakfast in the hotel's dining room when a shadow fell over his table. He frowned at the intrusion and looked up, only to end up blinking in surprise.<p>

"Ambassador," he said in greeting, rising to his feet, the napkin that had been in his lap was now in his hand. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"The same, Agent Hotchner," she responded with a polite smile.

He gestured to the empty chair at the table. "Please have a seat."

She shook her head. "Can we adjourn to somewhere more private?"

"Of course." She wanted to talk about Emily's case and the public dining room wasn't the place for it. "Would my room be more appropriate or would you prefer yours?"

"Is everything you need in yours?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Then yours will be suitable."

Hotch nodded and signaled the server for the bill. When she brought it over, the Ambassador told the young woman to charge it to her room and gave her the room number. When he tried to protest, she shot him a look that said the subject wasn't open for discussion.

"Any expenses you incur while representing my daughter and that includes hotel and food will be paid by me. None of this needs to come out of your pocket."

"Understood, Ambassador."

She smiled as they headed for the elevator. "Please call me Elizabeth."

"Aaron," he said in return with a small smile.

They stepped on the first available lift and Hotch pushed the button for the twelfth floor. The doors closed and standing side by side they watched the floor indicator crawl upwards. It was an old hotel with a rather slow elevator system that had Hotch thinking more than a few times that the stairs would actually be quicker.

Somewhere around the sixth floor Elizabeth spoke up. "I had every intention of destroying your career for what you put me and Emily through by faking her death. But luckily for you, she persuaded me not to. Emily said you were doing your best to protect her. You kept her safe."

"I would have understood if you had," he said honestly.

"I expect that you will use the same level of dedication and determination in defending Emily," she stated bluntly.

Hotch turned and looked directly in her eyes. "Of course. You have my word."

Elizabeth nodded once and the rest of the ride continued in silence. Once they reached his room, she took the lone armchair by the large window while he pulled out the desk chair. She properly crossed her legs and rested her folded hands in her lap.

"Please tell me how this all works," she said.

He took a deep breath. "After a defendant is arraigned they have the right to a speedy trial. This means a preliminary hearing is held before the jury trial. A majority of defendants waive that right to use the time between the arraignment and the trial to prepare their cases."

"Did Emily waive her right?" Elizabeth asked, still pretty upset with the idea of her daughter being locked up in that hellhole for months on end.

"On my advice she did not. Her prelim is scheduled for two weeks from yesterday," Hotch confirmed.

"So what exactly is a prelim?"

"It's a hearing of probable cause. It decides if the prosecution has produced enough evidence to convince a reasonable jury that Emily committed the crime she has been charged with. I will be able to cross examine any witnesses and challenge any of the evidence presented against her."

"What evidence do they supposedly have on my daughter?"

Hotch quickly brought the Ambassador up to date and finished with, "On paper the case seems rock solid. Solid enough for them to issue the arrest warrant. But between Emily and I and the team, we've have uncovered several discrepancies."

Elizabeth felt her hopes lift. She had been scared that Emily's predicament was going to prove irreversible. That she would be rotting away in prison for a crime she hadn't committed regardless of how hard her team had worked to clear her name. But that same team was proving her wrong. Emily had said they were the best and she was grateful that they were on her daughter's side.

She leaned forward in her chair. "Take me through slowly what the police have and what you have found out," she ordered.

"Of course," Hotch said with a nod.

He reached behind himself and retrieved the file from the desktop. Then he spent the next hour carefully guiding the Ambassador through their investigation and patiently answered her astute questions. When he was done she sat back, now even more impressed with Emily's teammates.

"He's good," she grudgingly conceded.

"But we're better," Hotch said. He wasn't boasting but stating a given fact.

"That I have no doubts about." Her eyes flashed with anger. "I want this bastard found, Aaron," she said, sounding every inch the ambassador she was.

"He will be, Elizabeth, and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law," he reassured her.

"And I want that detective drummed out of the police force. He's an incompetent fool. The public will be safer without him."

Hotch wholeheartedly agreed with her assessment of Morrissey. "I will do my best."

* * *

><p>Thanks to his impromptu and productive meeting with the Ambassador, he was now two hours late for his morning visit with Emily. As he drove to the jail and its unwilling occupant, he was glad he hadn't called ahead and had her moved to the private visitation room. The room's size probably wasn't much bigger than her cell, but it did have a window. She could gaze out even though it overlooked the exercise yard. But the view was still a view and it was a vast improvement over the one she had through the bars of her cell door. Plus after pacing the small space for the two hours chafing at the delay, Emily would have been thoroughly irritated with him by the time he had got there.<p>

At the main desk Hotch placed the request that she be brought to him then he followed a cop to the room. He was still unpacking his briefcase when the other door opened and Emily was escorted in. Officer Cruz immediately unlocked her handcuffs and left with a friendly nod.

"Morning," he said in greeting as he pulled out the chair and sat down.

"Morning," she said in return with a small smile, moving over to the table.

Hotch frowned in concern. Emily seemed to be favoring her left side and that was making her limp slightly. It deepened when she couldn't quite hide a wince as she sat down.

"Are your ribs bothering you?" he asked worriedly.

"What?" She blinked at him in surprise.

"I asked if your ribs are bothering you. I saw your wince as you sat."

Under the table Emily cradled her bruised ribs with her hand. She should have known that Hotch would notice; the guards hadn't. He always seemed to know when she was hurting even if she was keeping a stiff upper lip. Now he had just given her the perfect opportunity to tell him about Morrissey's assault and let him handle it.

Yet Emily hesitated. Was it right for her to dump it on him when he had so much on his plate right now? He was working so hard to on clearing her name. Did he need the added distraction? Especially when she was partially to blame for it because she had inadvertently pushed Morrissey too far. No he didn't. She'll just have to deal with it in her own way.

"They're fine," she lied. "I'm just a little stiff. That bunk is not the most comfortable thing to sleep on. The mattress is too thin."

Hotch's eyes narrowed as he studied her face for any signs of deception. He didn't see any but Emily was too good at hiding what she was actually feeling and thinking. He sensed she hadn't told him the whole truth. There was something she was holding back. But if he tried to push her on it, she would retreat behind her walls. Instead he would let it go for now and hope she will tell him later.

Hotch nodded. "I'm sorry I'm later than normal," he apologized. "I had a meeting with your mother."

Emily shrugged off the apology and regretted the motion as pain rippled through her back and ribs. "I figured as much."

It was his turn to look surprised. "How did you know she was in town?"

"Mother paid me a visit last night," she explained with a resigned smile.

"She never told me. How did she get in to see you?"

"According to her, she and the Police Chief had a nice little chat." She closed her eyes briefly as she ever so slightly shook her head. "That means she didn't give him any choice in the matter."

"I'm sorry," Hotch said in sympathy.

She frowned in confusion. "You already apologized for running late."

"Not that. I'm sorry that your request for no visitors wasn't adhered to by Strauss and the Ambassador and that the visitations were stressful for you."

"Actually my mother's visit wasn't too bad," Emily admitted with a half smile. "It was uncomfortable but she was able to distract me for a little bit."

"Good," Hotch said. Personally he welcomed anything that could take her mind off her predicament for a while. "I noticed when I was meeting with her that she didn't seem to know any of the details about your case. Didn't the two of you discuss it?"

She shook her head and looked at the camera up in the corner of the room. Hotch followed her gaze. "No. I was pretty sure our conversation was being recorded since it didn't fall under privilege. And I didn't want to show our hand about what we had uncovered. I also knew you would fill her in."

Hotch nodded in approval. "Smart idea."

Emily had another opportunity to tell him about the attack, but chose again to let it slip away. "How did the conference call with the team go last night? Did they find anything new?" she asked instead.

"Indeed they did." He grabbed the pad he had made notes on. "The UnSub was able to hack into the drug store's records but he couldn't access the credit card company's systems. Garcia found the record of your purchase."

"So he's computer savvy up to a point."

"Yes. She was also able to determine that the time stamps on the video surveillance had been altered."

She sagged back in the chair in relief. "I knew it."

"But—" Hotch started to caution.

"It's all inadmissible in court because Garcia had to use her hacking skills to find it," Emily finished for him.

Unable to sit any longer, Emily rose and went over to the window to gaze moodily outside. Hotch immediately noticed the limp was more pronounced. While she had been sitting her body had stiffened up. Now he was surer than ever that a bad bunk hadn't caused this stiffness of hers. She had hurt herself somehow and her pride was stopping her from telling him. It was obvious that Emily didn't want to appear weak.

Hotch opened his mouth to ask again but he quickly shut it. He was at the same impasse he had run into earlier. If he pressed her harder for details, Emily would shut down and that could have a negative affect on their future interactions. He needed her to be engaged and forthcoming, not withdrawn and distrusting. So he would wait for her to come to him when she was ready.

"Yes. But Garcia gave me the name of a fellow hacker who specializes in procuring the information legitimately. I contacted him last night and he assured me that he'd have everything prepared in plenty of time for your prelim. Right now it is a waiting game for the companies and the hotel to comply to my subpoenas."

Emily turned away from the window. "Is he any good?"

"Garcia personally vouched for him. She said he was the best," he said.

She nodded. "If she trusts him then it is good enough for me." She crossed her arms and tried to lean casually against the wall without wincing. She only partially succeeded. To hide it, Emily asked, "So did Reid finally let you in on his glassware fetish?"

The corner of his mouth curled into a smile at her choice of words. "He did. He had thought the glass with your prints on it looked familiar and it was. The glass was from your hotel room."

He pulled two photos from the file and laid them out on the table. Discomfort forgotten, Emily came back over and sat down. She picked up the photos, held them side-by-side and carefully compared them.

"They're identical," she concluded.

"They are. Reid didn't want to get your hopes up before he knew for certain that Hill didn't own any glassware that was similar," he explained.

Emily set the pictures back down on the table. "Thank him for me."

"I will," Hotch promised. "I spoke to the maid assigned to your floor. She remembered a glass was missing from your room, but she didn't pay much attention to it. Glasses disappear all the time like the towels and robes do. But she—"

"Gideon took the robes," she said out of the blue.

Hotch paused. "Pardon?" he asked in confusion.

"Gideon use to help himself to the robes," Emily said with a small smile. "I saw one in his go bag once."

His eyebrows went up. "I didn't know that."

She cocked her head to one side. "Really?" she asked with a dubious look. "You worked with him a hell of a lot longer than I did."

He shrugged. "I'm not the TSA. I don't check my colleague's bags before they are stowed on the jet," he deadpanned.

Emily stared at him for a long second. "Was that another attempt at humor, Hotch?"

"It was. Did I do better this time?"

"Very much," she said with a hearty laugh.

Hotch smiled. It was good to see her laugh and it was one that reached her eyes making them twinkle. That type of laughter had been woefully missing since the day of her arrest. Yes there had been halfhearted stabs at humor from Emily, but he suspected they were nothing but covers for her growing frustration and insecurities. But he also knew that genuine laughter was good for the soul so he hoped she kept laughing for a while.

"As I was saying before we wandered off on to the subject of Gideon pinching the bed linens—"

"Robes," she corrected, still chuckling.

"Robes," he said with a straight face. "The maid is willing to sign an affidavit stating that she noticed the missing drinking glass."

"Good," Emily said, sobering. "Anything else?"

Hotch shook his head. "Not at this time. The team is still shifting through all the cases and consults you worked on. So far no stands out, but it is also a slow process since they have to work around Strauss' orders. If they don't find anything domestic, I'll have to focus on your international cases."

"Great," she grumbled and stared at a crack in the ceiling. "Just don't tell Easter I've been arrested for murder. I'll never hear the end of it. He likes to rub salt into old wounds."

"I won't," he promised. "Off the top of your head, is there anyone else in your past who might still have a grudge against you?"

He hated asking the question. It made him sound like he suspected that she was holding back vital information, that he didn't trust her. After all she had kept Doyle a secret when he was stalking her. Unfortunately it was a question that had to be asked.

Emily's dark brown eyes drifted down from the ceiling and locked on to his lighter ones. "No," she said equivocally.

He gazed intently into her eyes and saw nothing but open honesty. That was good enough for him. He nodded and said, "I'm sorry, Emily, but you know I had to ask at some point."

"I did," she said with a half smile. "Believe me, Hotch, I would have immediately told you if there was one. The old Emily would have kept it to herself. I'm not her anymore."

"No, you're not. You're the new and improved model."

"Heh," she said with a chuckle.

Hotch reluctantly began to gather up the paperwork. "I think we've covered everything we can for now."

Emily's shoulders slumped in disappointment. She didn't want to return to her cold and sterile cell. She much preferred to stay in this dingy small room talking with Hotch about whatever so she groped for anything to say to prolong the inevitable just to buy herself a few more minutes of friendly human contact.

"Where do you go from here?" she ended up asking.

"I'm going to try to interview the prosecution's star witness," he stated as he pressed the buzzer to summon the guard. "Then I thought I might canvas Hill's neighbors and see if anyone suddenly remembers something."

"Good luck with that," Emily said with a snort.

"We're making progress, Emily."

"I know," she sighed and leaned forward to trace a water stain circle left by a mug on the table. "But we have to catch this guy, Hotch. The reasonable doubt we're building might get the charges against me dropped, but it won't clear my name."

The door behind her opened and Officer Cruz stepped in. Emily slowly rose to her feet. "Outside everyone will still think I'm guilty and that I only got away with it because there wasn't enough evidence to hold me over for trial. My career with the FBI will over." She held out her hands to the young officer.

"I won't let that happen," Hotch vowed.

Emily gazed sadly at him as the handcuffs were ratcheted snugly around her wrists. "You can't guarantee that."

She was right. He couldn't guarantee that she would be able to keep her job, but he would do his best to prevent it from happening. She was too good of an agent to lose. As Cruz took her gently by the arm, Hotch decided to try one more time to find out how she hurt herself.

"Prentiss, is there anything else you want to tell me?" he probed.

She paused. Emily looked down at her now cuffed hands then back at him and shook her head. "I'm good," she lied with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Okay," he said with nod, not believing her for a moment. "I'll let you know if I learn anything."

"I'm going to hold you to it," she countered, this time with a genuine smile.

Hotch sighed softly as he watched Cruz lead her out of the room and off to her lonely cell. There was one thing Emily had been wrong about. There were still pieces of the old Emily clinging to the new one. He had just caught a glimpse of the secretive one.

* * *

><p><em>Sigh. Sometimes Emily can be so stubborn and want to work it out for herself. Do come back next week to see if she finally spills the beans. Until then.<em>


	15. Chapter 15

_Hello everyone. Welcome back. Shall we check out what Emily, Hotch, Dave and Derek are up to? Lets. Enjoy._

* * *

><p>Hotch sat in his rental and stared at the decrepit four-story apartment building. Penelope said that this was the current address for Herman Simpson, the prosecution's star witness.<p>

According to them, he was the man who had sold the murder weapon to Emily. But according to the analyst he had been busted multiple times for drug possession and couldn't seem to hold a regular job. So dealing in illegal guns wouldn't be much of a stretch.

He got out and walked up to the security door. One tug on it told him it was broken. He stepped inside the dingy vestibule, his nose assaulted by the stale smell of urine. On his left was a broken down elevator with its door propped open with a brick and on his right the stairs with threadbare carpet. His opinion of Simpson as a reliable witness went down another notch, which was good for Emily's case.

Simpson lived on the third floor and Hotch hurried up the stairs trying not to breathe in the fetid air. Once he reached the landing, he took a second to orient himself and catch his breath. Up here the smell wasn't as bad. He marched down the hallway to the last door on the left and rapped sharply on it.

A few minutes passed before the door opened a crack and a pair of bushy eyebrows peered over the security chain. "Who are you and what do you want?" a nervous male voice demanded.

Hotch automatically reached into his suit jacket to whip out his credentials then he realized he wasn't here in that capacity. He let his hand fall to his side.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner and I'm representing Emily Prentiss –"

The bushy eyebrows drew down into a confused frown. "Who is she?"

"You're testifying in her upcoming trial," he explained, repressing the desire to sigh and roll his eyes.

The eyebrows went up. "Oh," he said, sounding surprised at the news.

"May I come in? I would like to ask you some questions."

"Uh…sure."

The bushy eyebrows disappeared and the door closed. For a moment Hotch was afraid Simpson wasn't going to let him in. Then the door swung open and the man gestured for him to come in. He nodded his thanks and stepped inside. As he did, Hotch switched into profiler mode and scanned the place with sharp eyes.

It was a small apartment with a combined living room and kitchen, an even smaller bedroom and a cramp bathroom. What furniture there was, and it wasn't much, was shabby and mismatched. Through the partially open door that led to the bedroom he caught a glimpse of the single mattress that served as the bed. Hotch turned his attention to the occupant. Simpson was scruffier than the apartment. His clothes were dirty and stained and his hair was as bushy as his eyebrows and in desperate need of a wash and cut. Everything screamed of him not having two nickels to rub together except for two glaring things: the brand new flat screen and the two hundred dollar tennis shoes on his feet. Something was off.

Simpson stood shifting restlessly from foot to foot in the center of the room, occasionally sniffling and rubbing his nose. "You wanted to ask me some questions?"

Hotch nodded. "I do. I want to talk to you about the night my client allegedly purchased an illegal gun from you."

"What does allegedly mean?" he interrupted.

"Supposedly purchased the gun," Hotch corrected, hoping he wouldn't ask what purchased meant. "What night was that?"

He wiped under his nose. "Uh…Friday."

"Did she say why she needed it?"

"Nope," he said with a shake of his head. "She wasn't real talkative and I wasn't going to ask. She just asked how much when I showed her the gun."

"How much?"

"Three hundred bucks."

Hotch glanced again at the flat screen and the tennis shoes. There was no way he could have purchased both with that sum of money. His suspicion grew stronger.

"The gun was a Smith and Wesson revolver, correct?" he fabricated. The actual murder weapon was a Glock 26.

"Yeah," Simpson said, letting out a low whistle. "It was a beauty." He immediately dropped his eyes to the floor and rubbed his nose.

_Cocaine user,_ Hotch concluded as he noted the raw nose and the red rimmed and bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sure it was," he agreed and pulled out of his briefcase a lineup card he had made up at the hotel with Emily's picture and five others. "Could you please point to the woman who bought the gun?"

Simpson hesitated and studied the card for an extremely long time. "Her," he said with conviction, pointing to one of the photos Hotch had randomly downloaded from the Internet.

The Unit Chief nodded as he slid the card back into the briefcase. He put it down at his feet, crossed his arms and glared at the man who shifted under its intensity.

"Mr. Simpson, do you know what perjury means?"

"Uh…no," he admitted.

"It means making false statements before the court," Hotch explained. "It carries a penalty of up to five years in jail."

Simpson gulped. "I…I'm not lying."

Hotch took a step closer, frown deepening. "Yes, you are. You failed to identify my client and you got the weapon wrong. You, Mr. Simpson, never met my client nor did you sell her a gun. How much were you paid to say you had?"

"Nobody paid me anything," he said defensively, looking everywhere but at Hotch.

"You're lying again. You don't have a job so there's no way you can afford that flat screen on the wall and those shoes on your feet. The only money you have goes up your nose in the form of cocaine. How much?" Hotch repeated, his voice deeper and more menacing.

Simpson's shoulders drooped in defeat when he realized he had been caught. "Five thousand," he mumbled.

"Five thousand?" Hotch repeated and the man nodded. "You better tell me everything from the beginning," he said in a slightly friendlier tone.

Simpson sighed and sank down onto the sagging couch. Hotch remained standing, towering over him. "I was hanging out in the park Saturday morning when this chick comes up to me."

"Does this woman have a name?"

"Windy Gale. She's a local hooker."

_Obviously with that name_, Hotch thought sarcastically. "What did she want?"

"She asked if I wanted to make some easy money. I said sure and asked how much. She said twenty-five hundred up front and another twenty-five when it was done. All I had to do was to tell the cops that I sold a gun to some chick and identify her picture when they showed it to me."

Hotch's eyebrows went up slightly. "And did you ask her why she wanted you to do that?"

He shrugged and rubbed his nose. "I just figured she was getting even with this chick because she hit on her boyfriend or john."

"You've could have been arrested for selling an illegal gun even if you hadn't," Hotch had to point out.

"Nah," Simpson said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "She said the cops would overlook it if I was willing to testify and that detective happily did."

_Of course Morrissey did_, Hotch thought wryly. _Arresting Emily was his best chance of making a name for himself. _ "So you said yes."

"Yup. I figured what the heck, it was no skin off my teeth. All the chick would get in the end would be a slap on the wrist."

Hotch wanted to throttle the man. "The woman, my client, you fingered was arrested and charged with first degree murder. That isn't a slap on the wrist. It's life in prison." _You dumb shit,_ he silently added.

"No way!" Simpson exclaimed. "What can I do to fix it? I don't want to send nobody to prison."

The Unit Chief retrieved a legal pad from his briefcase and held it out. "You're going to write out everything you told me in exact detail and sign it. Then you'll go to the DA and recant your previous statement. And, if need be, you will testify on my client's behalf."

"I can do that," he said and took the legal pad.

As Simpson started scribbling away, Hotch mentally smiled in triumph. This was the big break they were looking for. All he had to do was to track down Windy Gale and get her statement and hopefully a strong lead on the UnSub. With those two statements in hand he had enough to blow a major hole in the prosecution's case. He couldn't wait to tell Emily and possibly get her released before her prelim date.

* * *

><p>Derek rapped his knuckles on Dave's open door and waited for the older man to look up. He held up a file when he did. "Rossi, could you help me with this consult? It's kicking my ass."<p>

"Sure," Dave said and gestured to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

The dark agent swept his cautious eyes over the bullpen one more time before stepping into the office and plopping down in the closest chair. He set the file on the edge of the desk and rested his folded hands in his lap.

"So where's Strauss' little pet today?" he asked with derision, thinking back to yesterday when he had first seen her.

* * *

><p><em>Derek strolled through the glass doors of the BAU with the reports he had finished and needed to turn over to Dave for final dispersal. As he passed the open shelving he noticed an unfamiliar blonde woman sitting at the table with her nose buried in what looked to be a manual. She seemed overly focused on the dry material it held.<em>

_He spotted Penelope straightening Emily's desk. "Baby Girl, who's that?" he asked her, jerking his thumb at the woman._

_She peered over his shoulder and scowled. "Oh, THAT, my finely sculpted friend, is the latest proof that Strauss is the Wicked Witch of Quantico."_

_"Come again?" he asked in confusion._

_"Agent Bimbo says she's here to replace Emily."_

_"She's here to do WHAT?" he exclaimed in disbelief._

_Penelope touched him lightly on the chest. "Oh, Sugar, you heard me."_

_Derek shook his head. "No, I don't think I did." He glanced back at Agent Hale then said in a low, heated voice, "Are you telling me Strauss is not only screwing with Emily, but now she's decided to screw with the cohesiveness of this team?"_

_"Yep. Well, more that she usually does anyway," she added at the last second._

_"Son of a—" Derek growled. "This is ridiculous."_

_"I know," Penelope agreed._

_"She's got some nerve if she's—"_

_"I know."_

_"—She's seriously taking us on!" he continued angrily._

_"I know, right?"_

_Derek turned to glare at the interloper who was threatening to usurp his best friend's place on the team. "So who the hell is this so called replacement?"_

_She shrugged. "I can't remember the bimbo's name, but she's from some office in Cali, I think. I haven't had the chance to dig up all her dirty laundry yet."_

_"She's practically a baby. How the hell is she even qualified for this unit?" he mused._

_Penelope put both hands on her hips, tilted her head to one side and arched an eyebrow, giving him the look._

_"Right," he said in frustration. "It doesn't matter if she…Strauss. But why would she…oh," he said in realization._

_The analyst's eyes widened in surprise at that and she grabbed his arm and tugged him closer to Emily's desk, "Oh? What's with the 'oh'? Do you know something?" She studied his face. "Oh you know something. What do you know? Tell me. Tell me now!" she demanded._

_He ran an annoyed hand over his closely shaved scalp. "I'm guessing Strauss wants someone on the inside to make sure we're toeing the line."_

_Her eyes grew even wider. "A mole? Why on earth would anyone agree to that?"_

_"What's her face is over ambitious. Strauss brings her in, makes it seem like she owes her something…" he trailed off._

_"Ah," she said with a knowing nod. "Quid pro quo."_

_"Exactly." Derek heaved a loud sigh. "There's got to be a way to keep this bitch from taking Emily's spot."_

_"As we speak Rossi is on his way to see the Wicked Witch," she said with a wicked grin._

_He returned it with one of his own. "Sweet. Looks like a house is about to fall on her."_

* * *

><p>Dave leaned back in his chair. "Strauss has decided to reassign her to Borneman's team for now. To save face Strauss won't send her packing until Hotch returns and Prentiss is reinstated. Until then I would suggest you still watch what you do and say around her. I'm sure she'll report everything to Strauss."<p>

Derek snorted in disgust. "You don't have to worry about that. I have no intention of giving her the time of day."

"Good," he said with an approving nod. "Now what is this consult about that you need my help with?"

The dark agent glanced out the open door to verify no one was lurking about before flipping open the file. Inside were the photos of Hill's dead body at the crime scene. He slid them over to Dave.

"Like Emily, something about Hill's body has been bothering me," Derek said softly so that they wouldn't be overheard. "I'm pretty sure I know what it is, but I wanted a second opinion."

Dave picked up the photos and studied them. "I see a very dead man and three gunshot wounds: one in the right shoulder and two to the chest. The shoulder injury was meant to incapacitate while the other two were the killing shots."

Derek nodded. "But take a closer look at the shirt."

The older man frowned in confusion at the suggestion, but complied. Suddenly his eyes widened and he sat forward in his chair. "There's no blood around the shoulder wound."

"Exactly. This was the final shot and it was delivered postmortem. Dead bodies don't bleed," Derek said, eyes bright with his discovery.

Dave stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "Then why wasn't it delivered with the fatal shots?"

"Because the UnSub didn't have Emily's shirt at the time. He entered her hotel room on Saturday, removed the shirt, slipped his arm inside the sleeve and fired the final shot into the corpse to get the gunshot residual on the shirt."

"That would mean the time of death was off. Hill wasn't killed Saturday night, but sometime earlier in the day," he concluded.

"Right," Derek said with an eager nod. "And Emily has a solid alibi for that time. She was with us working the Guthrie case."

"That's true," Dave agreed. "But…" he trailed off when a not too promising thought occurred to him.

"But what?" the younger agent asked in confusion.

"What if the murder occurred even earlier?" Dave posed, hating what he was about to say. "Maybe Friday night?"

"Shit!" Derek swore and ran a frustrated hand over his head. "I didn't think of that. She definitely doesn't have an alibi," remembering that she left the hotel alone that night.

"Unfortunately she doesn't. The prosecution won't drop the charges. They still technically have her blood, prints and the witness. When they learn of the surveillance tape tampering, they could argue that Emily did it."

"So we need to verify the actual time of death," Derek said with a sigh.

"Yes. Hotch is going to have to bring in his own coroner to conduct a second autopsy."

Derek resisted the urge to get up and pace. "This is all a bunch of bullshit, Rossi. Emily never should have been arrested in the first place," he fumed.

Dave felt for him and told him so. "I know you're angry and frustrated. So am I. None of us are used to being on the other side of the law. We all want to get Emily out of jail this very instant, but that's not going to happen."

"I know."

"The DA isn't going to let her go because that would be admitting that they made a major mistake. So that means we keep at it, keep building up reasonable doubt that leaves the judge with no choice but to dismiss the charges. Unfortunately that means Emily will have to remain locked up for the next two weeks until her prelim," Dave said with a resigned smile.

"Not unless we find the son of a bitch who framed her first," Derek insisted.

"There's that too."

This time Derek shot to his feet. "We have to because if we don't, Emily either will end up in prison or have this hanging over her head for the rest of her life. There is no statute of limitations on murder and they could refile the charges against her at any time."

"Then we'll make sure neither comes to pass."

* * *

><p>While Hotch was out interviewing and chasing down possible leads, Emily spent the rest of her time, minus the hour she spent outside, reviewing her case file over and over hoping to spot something they all missed that would break the case wide open. So far her effort had been futile. She sighed and leaned her head against the cell wall and winced. She gingerly rubbed the goose egg on the back of her head, feeling the scab that had formed over the cut.<p>

By the time she had released from her shackles last night there was nothing she could have done about it except to carefully clean the dry blood out of her hair. Then she had taken her battered body to bed and spent the rest of the night trying in vain to find a comfortable position to sleep in. As predicted, this morning the bruises that she could see were a riotous mass of blue, black and red. Her body was as stiff as a board and she could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Luckily the antibiotics she was on for the sinus infection had taken care of the headache so she had been clearheaded when she had seen Hotch.

"Agent Prentiss? Dinner is here."

Emily looked over to her cell door to see Officer Cruz standing on the other side of the bars. She managed to get to her feet without groaning and made her way over to him.

"Shouldn't you be off duty?" she asked.

"Working a double shift," he replied as he slid the food tray through the slot set in the barred door.

"Ah," she said with a nod, taking the tray. She wrinkled her nose when she looked at its contents. "What is it?"

Cruz shook his head. "I don't have a clue. Just pretend it's steak and it should go down a lot easier," he suggested with a wink.

"I don't think my imagination will be able to convince my stomach of that."

He chuckled. "Enjoy."

"Yeah. Right," she deadpanned and took the tray over to the metal table.

Emily stared down at the unrecognizable food and repressed a shudder. The stress and the meds she was taking were wreaking havoc with her appetite. She wasn't really hungry, but she knew she had to eat. With a resigned sigh, she sat down on the metal stool, picked up the fork and prodded the white lump that she hoped were mashed potatoes. Emily grimaced at the slightly funny taste, but continued to eat.

As she ate, her eyes drifted to the file lying open on the bunk then over to the small shelf that held her meager collection of books. Maybe she should read awhile and distract her mind for a few hours. Then she could go back and work on her case until lights out. With a fresh mind and eyes she might find something she had missed before.

A sharp pain shot through her abdomen. Emily set the fork down and rubbed her stomach. Suddenly she didn't feel good. She was now sweating profusely, her hands had started to shake and her heart felt like it was about to burst out of her chest.

"Maybe I should lie down for a bit," she decided.

Emily stood up and a wave of dizziness washed over her, making her nauseous. She stumbled toward the toilet, but didn't get far, managing two steps before falling to her knees and throwing up. She blindly groped for the bunk and found it. Emily tried to pull herself up, but her body began to convulse, shaking rapidly and uncontrollably. She collapsed back on to the floor, her chin striking the bunk on the way down and lapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><em>Uh huh. That sure doesn't sound good, does it<em>? _Do come back next week to find out what happened to Emily. Hopefully it's nothing bad. Until then._


End file.
